Much Ado About Spying
by 12Mrs.Castile34
Summary: Cammie hates the Blackthorne exchange program. Every other year, a group of students from Blackthorne show up at their doorstep, take over the East Wing, and invade classes, and Cam so does not need this her senior year! However, she plans to take her mom's advice; she will make the most of the situation, and finally beat a certain infuriating Blackthorne Boy at his own game.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello lovelies!**

**So, new story. Fun times. All that jazz. **

**I'll leave the bulk of what I want to say for my 'end of the chapter' author's note so y'all can just jump into reading:)**

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ado About Nothing.'**

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**Chapter 1: Cammie's POV **

"No! No no no no!"

"Oh, come on Cam," Liz said as she entered the Grand Hall behind me. "You know Chef Louis never serves breakfast for dinner on the first day back. That's no reason to get upset."

Beside me Macey and Bex were snickering. "I don't think that's what Cam is freaking out about," Bex laughed, redirecting Liz's attention from the menu to the giant banner hanging on the far wall.

That stupid banner. It was always a different banner with new colors and cute, new bubble letters, but the words – the words that I had come to dread over the years – always remained the same.

"Welcome Blackthorne Institute for Boys," it read.

"I don't know why you're acting so surprised," Macey said as we found our usual table. "You knew they were coming."

I crossed my arms. "Yeah, well, was it wrong to hope that this stupid tradition would end so that my senior year wouldn't be ruined!"

For as long as I've been coming to the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, there has been the Blackthorne exchange program. It all started about 10ish years ago, when the Gallagher trustees decided that we Gallagher Girls needed to learn how to interact and work with the opposite sex. So, they met up with the peeps that run Blackthorne and created the program that brings a group of Blackthorne Boys to our doors every other year.

Last year, junior year, had been a good year – Za- er, Blackthorne free – so, like Macey said, I shouldn't have been surprised to see that cursed banner hanging above the podium behind which my mom usually stands like a giant bubble-lettered warning to beware.

"Don't say that, Cam," Liz reprimanded. "Taking classes with the students from Blackthorne will provide us with a tremendous opportunity to better ourselves and enhance our knowledge of the world."

If I remembered correctly (and since I'm technically a genius, I was pretty sure I did), that was a direct quote from my mother from way back in 8th grade when I'd gone to her after the first _incident _with a certain Blackthorne student. _Oh, Liz._

"Also," she continued, "my Boy-to-English translator could use updating. I need all of the research I can get."

"More importantly," Bex chimed in around a mouthful of bread roll (which was not cool since we weren't supposed to eat until after my mom's opening thingy – not to mention, it was totally unladylike), "they're _boys_. What did you do over summer break?"

"You know where I go every summer: grandma and grandpa Morgan's."

"Exactly, which means you haven't been around boys your own age since the end of sophomore year!"

"Age is relative. I stand by the theory that their school has their own Dr. Fibs that accidentally blasted them all with some kind of ray that makes them look older, and so Gallagher has been forced to suffer at the hands of teenage-looking five-year olds for all these years."

"You just made that theory up," Macey accused.

I threw up my hands. "It doesn't matter. The point is that we've learned all we need to from Blackthorne, so we shouldn't have to endure another year of taunting, teasing, and harassing, all while he just stands there flashing his cocky grin like he knows something I don't!"

My friends shared a look.

"I mean 'they'. _They _stand there and flash their cocky grins. _Them_. As a whole. All of them."

"Cam," Bex started cautiously, "is this really about Blackthorne or is it about Za-"

"Don't," I interrupted her, "say that name."

Macey rolled her eyes. "Come on. When are you going to let this little conflict go?"

I scoffed. "This isn't merely some conflict. I hate him. He thinks he's so much better than me just because he bested me the one time! Ugh! He's such an arrogant, cocky, self-centered jerk!"

"First of all," Liz said, holding up a hand, "you do know that those words all mean the same thing, right?" The question was rhetorical, so I just huffed. "And second, maybe you're not seeing the whole picture. I mean, he's popular among his classmates, a lot of our own students are…fond…of him," – more like drawn to anything breathing and male in close proximity – "and he has that mentorship thing going with Mr. Solomon, so he's probably full of virtues."

I rolled my eyes. "He's full of himself."

Bex sighed. "Give it a rest, Liz. Nothing's going to change. You know every time Zach and Cammie are together there's war."

"And I always win."

Well…except for that one time.

Macey laughed. "You know I support you, Cam, in pretty much everything you do because you have good intuition and your gut is almost never wrong, but I know boys, and I don't think Zach is actually aware of this game you've set up between the two of you. Are you sure you aren't imagining this rivalry?"

It took me maybe .37 seconds to think back and come to the conclusion that, no, I wasn't imagining anything.

Macey had come to us Sophomore year, and by then I'd already known Zach for two years, so I didn't expect her to understand. How was she supposed to know that Zach was the one who had started it all? That he was the one who created the game in the first place? From the moment I met him, tormenting me had become some kind of sport for him. It wasn't my fault that I had to get good at playing to stay one step ahead.

I couldn't tell my friends all of this without digging myself into a deeper hole, but thankfully I was kept from having to answer by my teachers filing into their respective chairs and my mother taking her place at the podium in the center.

"Women of Gallagher Academy, who comes here?" Her voice, despite the lack of a microphone, projected across the entire Grand Hall, and I got chills.

I stood along with all of my sisters and answered, "We are the sisters of Gillian."

"Why do you come?"

"To learn her skills. Honor her sword. And keep her secrets."

"To what end do you work?"

"To the cause of justice and light."

"How long will you strive?"

"For all the days of our lives."

We all sat down and mom continued with a varied version of her usual 'welcome back' speech. I listened, but only half-heartedly (though, if anyone would've asked me afterward to repeat everything she'd said, I could have done it verbatim) however, I really started to pay attention when she got to the new announcements.

"By order of Dr. Fibs," my mom said, "there is to be no more use of the actinium nail polish outside of the inner, glass lab, and you are only to exit said lab when the doctor clears you. I don't care how many windows you open in your suite; radioactive poisoning is still a possibility.

"Also, the newest solitary areo-mobilizing technology has finally reached Gallagher Academy, so classes concerning the safe use of the device will be added to the curriculum for our seniors." She turned to our table. "Just like with your other classes, you will be expected to complete a practical exam at the end of the semester."

_Sweet_, I thought. _Jetpacks. _

The thought of getting to use solitary aero-mobilizing technology, or SAM tech, excited me, and I was almost able to forget why I was so upset when first coming into the Grand Hall. Almost.

"Oh, and one more thing," mom continued. "This year, the Gallagher Academy once again has the privilege of hosting a select group of students from the Blackthorne Institute for Boys."

I gagged as giggles and a few girly squeals erupted from the crowd.

Mom merely smiled indulgently. "Make the most of this year ladies. 'The price of anything is the amount of life we exchange for it.'"

The Thoreau quote threw me for a loop. It wasn't her usual outro. And I found myself pausing to think about everything my friends had said. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was being childish, and I needed to just let the petty rivalry go. I mean, how much of my life did I really want to exchange for beating Zach?

Just then, the doors at the back of the Grand Hall opened, and in strode a group of about fifteen teenage boys, all of them dressed in immaculate and identical uniforms. A lot of them were returnees and so they smiled genuine smiles at us girls, many of whom they'd befriended over the years. But one boy stood out from all the rest because he wasn't smiling. He was smirking.

At me.

And suddenly I had my answer. How much life was I willing to exchange for beating Zachary Goode?

A whole hecking lot of it.

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**AN: First of all, thank you so much for reading! I greatly appreciate it! Feel free to tell me what you think, good and bad comments are always accepted as long as they remain respectful. **

**So, the idea to write this story has been cooking inside my mind stew for a while, and I'm excited to finally be dishing it out! As I mentioned in the disclaimer, this story is based off of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. For those of you who are familiar with the play, I sincerely hope you enjoy this Gallagher rendition. The plot is going to remain relatively the same...sort of. Obviously, things are going to be modernized and spy-schoolified, but I also plan on throwing in other stuff so you Shakespeare fanatics are kept on your toes and aren't totally bored with the plot! **

**For those of you who are unfamiliar with this particular play, or you hate reading Shakespeare, or you don't even know who he is (if the last one is true for you, then come on, you're obviously on the internet if you're reading this, google him) that is 100% okay too! Just read this like you would any other Gallagher AU story. I don't plan on using Early Modern English, I am SOOOO not that talented, so if that has turned you off from Shakespeare in the past, I am here to put your worries to rest. (I mean, can you imagine Zach being all, "Good morrow thine mistress of Gallagher! What cheer?" Then Cammie'd be all, "Receiveth Out, thou crusty batch of nature!" And then he'd be like, "I am but a spy." Yeah...no. Not doing it.) **

**I really think this story is going to be a fun one to write, and I hope you find it fun to read! You may even want to pick up the play and give it a read by the time we're done here;) **

**Have an enjoyable day!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hola, mis amigos!**

**So, here is chapter 2 not even a week after chapter 1. BOOM! This is most definitely a first for me; I usually never post this fast. (Like, seriously. Ask any of the peeps who read my Vampire Academy fics.) That being said, I wanted it known that this probably won't be a usual occurrence. I can't promise a new chapter every week or even every other week. I truly wish I could make writing fanfics a priority, but...c'est la vie, especially with the Fall semester starting in the next couple weeks. BOO! HISS! JK. College is important (at least for what I want to do), but you get the point: free time will be limited. **

**However, I CAN promise that I'm not going to leave you guys hanging. A month or so might go by between posts, but until I mark this story as complete, you can be rest assured that there will be another chapter coming your way. I will finish this story! To quote Mr. Zachary Goode, "I always finish what I start." ;)**

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ado About Nothing.'**

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**Chapter 2: Cammie's POV **

I whirled on my friends. "I thought they weren't coming until tomorrow!"

Macey shrugged. "Today? Tomorrow? They were coming either way."

"But classes don't even start until tomorrow. They have zero reason to be here now."

"Maybe we just wanted an extra 12 hours of your pleasant company, Gallagher Girl."

I stiffened. There was only one person who ever called me 'Gallagher Girl,' and he was standing right behind me. I shouldn't have taken my eyes off him; it was careless of me to turn my back to him once I knew he was in the room. Worse than that, I hadn't even heard him approach. Not even five minutes in the same room and I was already screwing up.

_Pull yourself together, Cameron! Play the game. _

I spun smoothly in my seat, forcing my lips to form my own version of his infuriating smirk. "'Pleasant company'? Such high praise coming from _the _Zachary Goode."

He winked. "The one and only."

"Oh, come now. What are the statistical probabilities of that?"

Liz opened her mouth to answer, but Bex shushed her with a shake of her head. She was watching Zach and I's interaction with wide eyes like it was prime time television, in which case, Liz rambling off statistics would equate to a commercial about constipation pills. Hence the shushing.

After noticing Bex's expression, it only took me a second to realize that everyone at the senior table was watching us in a similar fashion. Well, this was awkward, not to mention completely backward! I was the pavement artist, the one that nobody was supposed to see (my code name was _Chameleon _for goodness sake!), but here I was…being all seen and stuff. I guess I'd never realized how legendary Zach and I's word volleys were.

Zach pretended to ponder my question for a moment before saying, "Probably pretty slim, but you have to admit, of all the Zach Goodes in the world, I have the best hair."

I scoffed. There was that arrogance. I didn't need this right now, or, let's be honest, ever. Besides, it was a Sunday, and first day back or no, I had dinner plans with my mom. And now that her 'welcome back' speech was over, I could head up to her office. I could get out of this uncomfortable limelight.

Ignoring Zach, I said good-bye to my friends, promising to meet up with them later for Tina's annual back-to-school movie marathon.

"Oh, come on, Gallagher Girl," he faux pleaded, doing the worst possible thing he could've been doing right then: following me. "Best smile? Greatest personality? Most devilishly handsome?"

This. _This _was what I'd been dreading. The constant taunting that bordered on harassment. I stopped abruptly and turned to him with a glare. "Why are you still talking? No one is listening to you."

"Ah," he exclaimed, "there is Little Miss Disdain. I thought I killed her during my last visit."

I snorted and started walking again, faster this time. "How can disdain die when you're around? In your presence, even Miss Kindness becomes Miss Disdain."

He touched a hand to his chest. "Ouch. And here I thought I'd been able to seduce Miss Kindness. Of course, I have a tendency to seduce all women."

_Gag_. "Ugh, if you don't mind, I'm about to be _eating_. Besides, that is a gross overstatement. I can assure you that you've never seduced me."

"Fine, all women but you," he amended stiffly, the smirk gone from his face. But before I could figure out what that meant, it was back, more irksome than ever. "A shame, really, since I have no desire to be in love or in a relationship."

I rolled my eyes. "A blessing to all women, I'm sure. I would pity the girl who found herself to be in a relationship with you. 'Zach, can we go on our date now?' 'Of course, babe, right after I finish admiring my own reflection.'"

He scowled at me. "And I'm sure _you'd _be the epitome of the perfect girlfriend."

"Actually, I don't want to be in a relationship either. I'd rather help Mr. Moskawits shave his back hair than exchange 'I love yous' with some boy I'd probably be broken up with within the next month."

He seemed shocked that we actually agreed on something (or maybe he was just grossed out by the visual I'd given him of Mr. M's hairy back) but recovered quickly. "Let's hope you keep that mindset. The unfortunate soul that loves you would end up with a severely damaged pride and a scratched-up face."

Pff. It wasn't my fault eye clawing was on the P and E final sophomore year.

"Well, then I hope he has a face like yours," I said sweetly, "because at least then a scratched-up face wouldn't make him look any worse."

I glanced down at his fists. They were clenched and I smiled. Clenched fists were always his tell that I was getting to him.

Suddenly, he spun, stopping in front of me. I gasped as only five years of intense spy training kept me from slamming into his chest.

"Hey! What- "

"Are we really doing _this _this year?" he growled.

I was taken aback by his obvious frustration. Sure, ticking each other off was part of the game, but so was making sure we never showed it. "Doing what? Talking? Not if I can help it."

He sneered. "You know what I mean."

"Last I checked, I wasn't a mind reader, so…no, Zachary, I don't know what you're talking about."

He scrubbed a hand down his face. When he looked back up at me, he seemed…disappointed? Why would he be disappointed? Tormenting me was what he lived for. And…why did it sting a little to have him look at me like that?

"Whatever," he sighed. "See yah around." Then he made his way back down to the Grand Hall.

"Typical," I called after him. "Slipping out of an argument while we're in the middle of it!"

But he was already gone.

* * *

"Hey, Kiddo," my mom said when I entered her office. "Go ahead and get comfortable, dinner is almost done."

I took a seat on the brown, leather couch, still thinking about what Zach had said. _Are we really doing _this _this year? _He totally acted as if fighting each other was _my _idea. As if he didn't want to. And if that were true…

I didn't want to think about Zach, so I let my eyes take a turn around the room. There was a new book on the shelf, _Know Your Knives vol. 3 _– which I'd been dying to get my hands on since there had been at least four different types of knives to enter the market since volume two came out – and a picture of Mom and Mr. Solomon abutting the picture of mom and me. A giant waterfall was flowing behind them and mom was looking at the camera with a radiant smile on her face. Mr. Solomon, however, was looking at mom like she was his world. While I'd been in Nebraska, they'd spent their summer break in Brazil, sun soaking on its beautiful beaches, taking pictures in front of its waterfalls, and disarming bombs in its embassies. _So lucky. _

"So, what are we having?" I asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Pasta," she called from the small, attached kitchen area.

"Yum," I lied because not only was I a spy, but I was also a daughter who wanted to spare her mom's feelings.

"Were you able to say 'hi' to any of your friends from Blackthorne before coming up here?" she asked, sticking her head in her office for a brief second to smile at me.

_Are we really doing _this _this year?_

"Um, no." Which was technically true since Zach and I were _not _friends.

No thanks to my mom, I was thinking about Zach…again, so I had to distract myself…again.

On the coffee table in front of me sat a bag of cosmetics, but I knew better than to riffle through it and find a cute shade of lipstick I could borrow. Not when the lipstick was actually an acidic paste, the blush was really a nerve powder, and the application brushes doubled as laser pointers (the dangerous, cut through anything kind). Warily, I slid to the far end of the couch, you know, just in case the mascara bottles were grenades that activated once the cap was pulled off.

"Alrighty," mom sang as she presented me with a bowl of Ramen noodles. (I should have known this was what she meant by 'pasta.')

"Thanks, mom. Looks great." Not a lie since Ramen was really hard to mess up, even for her.

"So, senior year," she prompted after taking a bite. As if she were a normal mom talking to her normal daughter. As if we weren't spies and graduating didn't mean starting a life of lies, uncertainty, and constant danger. "Are you excited?"

"What's not to be excited about?" I evaded.

Her eyes were sparkling when she looked at me and said, "So, you're excited about the students from Blackthorne being here?"

I choked on my noodles.

"Um, *cough* excuse me a sec. *cough* I need some water."

I quickly made my escape to the kitchenette and grabbed a glass of water. There was no right way to answer that question, and she knew it. 'Yes, I'm excited' would be a lie, but 'no, please send them back from whence they came' would just be childish. In that case, there was really only one solution: distraction.

I sat back down on the couch with a subject change on the tip of my tongue, but mom beat me to the punch. "You know, I can't help but notice how charming a lot of those boys are."

"They're teenage boys," I grumbled, "not princes."

She continued as if I hadn't said anything. "Especially that Zachary Goode, who you seem to be around quite often."

She quirked an eyebrow and I grimaced. "Mom, I know where you're going with this and the answer is a hard no. Like, take your train of thought and crash it into a ravine, then chuck a couple bottles of nitroglycerine into the ravine as well to make sure it's dead."

"I see," she said like someone who totally did _not _see. "Just good friends then?"

Rachel Morgan was a spy, a _really good _spy, which meant she noticed more than most. I sighed. "You know Zach and I hate each other. What are you getting at?"

Her smile softened. "Do you?"

"Hate Zach? Of course! How else am I supposed to feel toward someone who I'm constantly at odds with, who takes pleasure in making my life miserable, and who thinks he's better than everyone?"

"You've never _looked _miserable with him."

I suddenly found my half-eaten bowl of Ramen very interesting. "Well, 'miserable' might have been an exaggeration, but I still hate him."

"Hmm. In my experience," she began with all her mom wisdom, "hating someone is very similar to being in love with them. Your stomach twists at the thought of that person. Your heart beats heavy and bright, nearly visible through your flesh and clothes. Your appetite and sleep are shredded. And every interaction spikes your blood with a dangerous kind of adrenaline, and you're constantly on the brink of fight or flight around them."

I stared at her, horrified. "Are…are you suggesting I'm _in love _with Zach?"

"Not at all." I let out a breath of relief. "But you're not as far from it as you think."

I abruptly stood. "Thanks for dinner, mom. It was great. Add it to the recipe book. I'm, uh, gonna turn in for the night. First day of my senior year and all that, so I should probably be well rested and what not." I leaned over and kissed her cheek, then inched my way to the door. "Love you. Sweet dreams. Good night. Same time next week, yeah?"

My mom was smiling a knowing smile that I really didn't like. "Love you too, Kiddo."

Once I'd closed the large, soundproof door and determined that I was alone in the hall, I sank onto the bench outside of her office.

What was she talking about? Me loving Zach? Impossible! I didn't even like him! Never before had I doubted my mom's intuition, abilities, or judgement, but I definitely was starting to. Because she was wrong. So wrong. Like, so ridiculously wrong it wasn't even funny.

I couldn't remember a single conversation with Zach that wasn't either an argument or filled with insults being thrown in both directions. I mean, come on! What more did a girl have to do to convince her own mother that she hated someone?

Or, you know, at least very strongly disliked him.

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**AN: Thank you so very much for taking the time to read this here chapter! Comments and critique are appreciated...cuz, yah know, I girl's got to get her confidence and self-worth somewhere. (I jest. Please don't find your self-worth in what other people say. You're all wonderful people! Haters be hatin')**

**Anyway, the first thing I wanted to mention is that I cannot take credit for Rachel's 'hating someone is very similar to being in love with them' speech. That whole paragraph is a minimally tweaked quote from Sally Thorne's novel, The Hating Game (one of my favorite books of pretty much all time.) I highly, highly suggest you pick it up if you like the 'hate to love' trope, you're in the mood for a swoon worthy romance, and you're of age (cuz it's definitely an adult novel). I repeat: that paragraph does not belong to me! **

**The second thing is that I want y'all to know that I fully realize Zach and Cammie's argument was a touch weird for a second there. Here in the 21st century we usually don't personify attitudes (like disdain and kindness) to make a point, but I guess they did in Shakespeare's day or whatever because that whole fight was a very tweaked version of a fight between the characters in Much Ado About Nothing, the ones I am mirroring in Zach and Cammie. I mention this because there will be quite a few instances in the future in which I will be drawing directly from Shakespeare's script and making it sound modern. I promise to try to keep all dialogue as normal sounding as possible! **

**Love you all! Have a blissful day!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Sup, mah dudes!**

**Yay! It's finally the third chapter! As predicted, school hit me like a semi-truck filled with sludge hammers, so...that's my excuse for taking forever and a day to update.**

**p.s. it will probs be my excuse next time as well. **

**Hope y'all enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Gallagher Girls characters or the universe from which they come, that privilege is Ally Carter's. Also, the plot of this story is based off of Shakespeare's play, Much Ado About Nothing.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Zach's POV**

Cammie Morgan.

Cammie freaking Morgan.

I didn't understand her at all. I mean, I knew she didn't like me – which, by the way, the feeling was mutual – but I'd clearly been trying to call a truce to our constant fighting, build a bridge of sorts, and she had totally shot me down.

_Last I checked, I wasn't a mind reader, so…no, Zachary, I don't know what you're talking about. _What kind of bullheaded answer was that? A simple 'no' would have sufficed.

Obviously, I was missing something because she couldn't hate me when I was teasing her _and _when I was trying to make peace, right?

"Uh-oh. Zach has on his 'I'm overthinking something' face."

Grant's words implied he was talking to Jonas, but he was looking pointedly at me, sitting on the bed across from mine with an eyebrow raised in question.

"You good, Goode?"

"Course," I said, then pushed a practiced carefree smile onto my face.

Jonas swiveled his chair around to face me rather than whatever project he was working on in the mini lab he'd already set up in the corner of the room. "So, your little walk with Cameron Morgan has nothing to do with why you came back to dinner in such a foul mood and why you're sitting there looking all dejected and frustrated?"

My knee-jerk response was to deny everything and pray they didn't push the subject, to work this whole thing with Cammie out on my own. But these guys were my brothers. I trusted them. And let's be honest, three genius heads were better than one.

"Alright." I swung my legs off the edge of the bed and, leaning forward, rested my elbows on my knees. "So, our conversation started out pretty normal – a harmless tease from me, a snide comment from her, sarcasm on my part, snark and sass returned, and so on and so forth. I mean, jeez! Have you ever listened to her before? She's got the fastest smart mouth I've ever seen. It's so irritating. It's like, where does she even come up with –"

Grant cleared his throat loudly, effectively bringing me back from the rabbit's hole I was about to travel down.

"Sorry," I said. "Anyway, we were almost to Headmistress Morgan's office – by this point she had already told me that I'll be forever alone because I'm arrogant and ugly – and so I –"

"Wait," Jonas gasped, holding up a shaking hand and trying to contain his laughter. Grant wasn't in such hysterics, but I still caught him trying to cover up a chuckle with his fist. I glared at them both.

"I'm glad this is amusing you guys."

"No, no. Not amused," Grant claimed while fighting a smile. "Just…impressed."

I narrowed my eyes. "Impressed? By what?"

"The balls it takes to say that kind of stuff to someone's face."

"That," Jonas agreed, finally recovering, "and her ability to hit the nail so perfectly on the head within a five-minute conversation. I mean, wow. What a talent."

_I take back everything I said about being brothers and trusting these idiots._

"You know what? Nevermind. I'm just gonna head to the library. Thanks for the support, guys."

"Come on, Goode. We're messing with you," Grant said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Besides, we haven't had a single class. There's nothing to study yet."

Jonas snorted. "I would beg to differ on that point. We can _always _be studying."

"Jonas," Grant groaned.

"Anyway, we're sorry. Please continue. You were almost to the Headmistress' office and then…"

With a sigh, I sat back down. I still needed advice. "And then I asked her if we were going to continue fighting for the rest of the year. She acted like she didn't know what I was talking about."

"That _is_ strange. It's not like the animosity between the two of you is a secret." Grant might've looked like your stereotypical dumb jock, but underneath the sandy blonde hair and abs was an impressive and highly trained intellect. He was using it now. "What advantage could she possibly have by being coy about the situation? Obviously, it's throwing you off, so maybe that's her angle. Her goal is probably to – "

"Hold up, Newman," Jonas interrupted, then turned to me. "What was said again? Verbatim this time."

I shrugged. "I said, 'Are we really doing this this year?' and then she said, 'Doing what? Talking? Not if I can help it.'" – I rolled my eyes as my friends tried to stifled their snorts of laughter – "So, I said, 'You know what I mean' then she was like, 'Last I checked, I wasn't a mind reader, so, no, Zachary, I don't know what you're talking about.'"

Regurgitating the conversation did little in the way of figuring out Cammie's plan, and I could tell Grant was still confused too. Imagine my surprise when Jonas spoke up.

"Now I see your problem."

Grant and I both spun on him. "You do?" I asked incredulously.

He nodded. "Your guys' problem is that you're looking at it as if Cammie is a spy on a mission, as if she has some objective in playing dumb with Zach."

"She _is_ a spy," I said dryly. _A good one at that._

"And there's a good chance she has some sort of objective," Grant added.

Jonas shook his head. "Yes, Cammie is a spy, but you're both forgetting what else she is."

"A Gallagher legacy?" I tried.

"Headmistress' daughter?" asked Grant.

"No and no," said Jonas, acting very much like a teacher trying to guide the class to the right answer. "What is she physically?"

"Hot."

Woah! Where the did that come from?

Before I could come up with some excuse as to why my mouth was spitting out ridiculous words without my mind's permission, Grant was already taking his turn to guess what Jonas was getting at.

"Blonde." I gave him an exasperated look. "Well, she is!"

Jonas raised his eyes heavenward as if to say, 'God, give me strength.' (Though, as far as I knew, Jonas had never been the religious type.)

"_A girl_, guys," he finally said. "Cammie is a _girl_."

Well, obviously I knew that, but it still didn't tell me why she was acting this way.

"So?" I prompted, needing him to just get to the point already. "What's the significance of that?"

Jonas pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen. You guys are approaching this as if Cammie is talking to Zach as a spy, but she's not. At least she wasn't during your last argument."

I found that hard to believe. Being a spy wasn't something we could turn off and on. It was a part of us, a part of everything we did. I may have been talking to Grant and Jonas right then, but I was also aware of the time down to the minute without having to look at a watch, I could tell you exactly what was happening in the science labs at that moment from the barest hint of fumes in the air, and I knew that one of the blades in the circling fan above us could be dislodged to reveal an _actual_ blade because there was a slight off-balance that make the thing squeak. I was a spy first, and everything else second. We all were.

"How do you know that?" Grant asked, his tone as dubious as I felt.

Jonas looked at me. "Zach, you were cryptic and vague. 'Are we doing this this year?' Come on, man. Girls want to be spoken to directly, without ambiguity. Referring to your past hostile tendencies as 'this' was taking the easy way out. She wanted you to say what you meant."

"Cammie may be infuriating, but she's not an idiot. She knew what I meant."

Jonas threw up his hands. "Well, of course she knew what you meant, but that's not the point! You were allusive, so she was allusive too. Don't play games with girls because they will not hesitate to play you right back, ruthlessly."

Where the heck was this vat of girl knowledge coming from? We went to an all-boys school. That was all boys, all the time.

"How do you know so much about girls?" Grant asked, voicing my thoughts.

Jonas shuddered. "Sisters, man. I have _three _sisters."

Jonas was silent for a long moment, and honestly, he looked slightly traumatized. Grant reached over and patted his knee.

"So," I said, shoving my hands in my hair, "what do I do about Cammie?"

"That depends on you, and what you want." Jonas said, smacking Grant's hand away. "Do you want things with Cammie to remain as they have been since 8th grade, or do you want them to change?"

It was common knowledge among spies that change was generally a bad thing. Our world revolved around intelligence. If something you thought was concrete changed, then it was a pain in the neck to relearn and accommodate that change with other intel. After all, anything can affect everything. The smallest change could create a domino effect with everything you thought you knew.

Was I ready to change things with Cammie?

"I don't know," I groaned, flopping back into my bed. "I wanted to be friends with her when we first met, but I don't know if I want that anymore. She's…she's just so belligerent. And I swear she grows more and more obstinate every time I see her."

Jonas pressed his lips and Grant picked at his nails. "She also gets hotter and hotter every time you see her," Grant said.

"What?!" I yelled, jerking upright. "Not cool!"

"Don't act like you didn't call her 'hot' like two minutes ago, Goode."

I was hoping they hadn't heard that.

Jonas gave me a knowing look. "Maybe the reason you don't want to be friends with her is because you'd rather be something…more."

I stood up and paced the small space of our room. "No! No, absolutely not! I don't want to date _anyone_, least of all Cameron Morgan. She basically, not in so many words, told me that if we were ever to date, she'd mutilate me. And I know that if I asked for it, Mr. Smith would probably give me the name of his plastic surgeon, but that seems too high a price to pay for going on a date with a girl. Nope. No, thank you."

Jonas held up his hands. "Okay. Sorry I mentioned it."

"Defensive much?" Grant mumbled.

I sighed and sat down. So I was a little defensive. They would be too if I'd just suggested they date their long-term nemesis.

"Speaking of attractive women," Jonas said. "Have you guys seen Liz Sutton yet?

I groaned. "No. Not you too, Jonas."

Jonas and Grant gave me confused looks.

"What do you mean?" Jonas asked.

"Girls. Dating. The whole shebang. I didn't think someone as level-headed and logical as you would take an interest in it."

"Zach," Grant said, widening his eyes at me meaningfully, "Jonas is showing an interest in something _other than _his contraptions, projects, and code breaking. Show some support."

"I am supportive," I defended. "I'm supporting Jonas by dissuading him."

"Why?" Jonas asked, crossing his arms. "You don't think I stand a chance?"

"No! I mean, yes, of course you stand a chance, but that's not what I meant."

"Then what is it? Do you not like Liz?"

_Ugh. How do I explain this without sounding like a jerk? _

"It's not Liz specifically. It's like I said, girls and dating in general are what I'm trying to save you from."

Grant rolled his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to push your anti-dating policy on Jonas?"

So what if I was? It wasn't that I didn't _want _to like girls. I admitted that I found them attractive – even the really irritating ones. But wanting something didn't mean that having it would be the best thing for you. What Grant and Jonas didn't understand was that my "anti-dating policy" had very little to do with not wanting to be tied down and everything to do with the fact that I knew women to be flighty and untrustworthy. Bitterly, I thought of my mother. I was grateful she gave birth to me, but that was about it. It was the first and only decent thing she'd ever done to me.

Both Grant and Jonas knew about my past, but I wasn't in the mood to reopen that can of worms with them. I was also afraid to know what kind of Freudian diagnosis Jonas would give me after learning I was using my mother's constant stream of betrayals to justify my lack of trust in all woman. Add it to the list of reasons I was screwed up.

I didn't need my best friends reading more into my expression than I wanted them to, so I walked to the in-suite bathroom and started my nighttime routine, calling my answer to them through the open door. "I just don't see why everyone thinks it's necessary to have a significant other in high school. The probability that the relationship will last is low, and don't even get me started on how much lower the success rate drops once you factor in that we go to spy school."

"Always so logical and rational, never one to factor in emotions," Jonas muttered.

"You're one to talk," I said around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Jonas glared. "Are you saying I'm emotionless?"

I spit before answering (which was stupid – it was much harder to say things that would do lasting damage to a lifelong friendship when you were foaming at the mouth), "Of course not, but you can't deny that between the three of us, you're the most careful and precise. You like figuring things out and knowing the end result, but that's not how love works. You can't just figure out another person like a science experiment."

Jonas opened his mouth, but quickly snapped it shut. His jaw ticked and I could tell he was biting his tongue, holding back what he wanted to say. He was always better at that than me. When angry, I tended to say whatever came to mind and I usually ended up apologizing for it later.

He took a deep breath. "One day, Zach, you're going to eat your words."

I didn't like the sound of that. Because while Jonas really was the most careful and the most precise among us, he was also the one who was right most of the time.

Grant, taking on the necessary role of 'peace-maker,' smiled and said with a voice loud enough to break the tension, "He's right! I'm telling you, Zach. Before we graduate, I'm going to see you sick with love."

I didn't like the direction Grant was taking this, but I was grateful for his interruption none the less. I smirked. "Sick with anger, sick with fever, or even sick of this conversation, but not love. In fact," – I leaned on the doorjamb – "if you ever see me 'in love,' and I can't be brought to my senses with a few good hits to my head in the sparring ring, then I give you permission to junk punch me."

They both laughed, telling me they'd hold me to that, and I returned to brushing my teeth. Simple as that, the fight was over, and all was forgiven.

The conversation continued without me. Grant asked Jonas why he liked Liz, and admittedly, if I were the romantic type (which I wasn't) then I'd say they were some pretty good reasons. Jonas wasn't a superficial person. He liked her for her personality and her mind. Though, it certainly didn't hurt that she was beautiful too.

Grant listened and nodded along and even offered to be his wingman. I didn't. Maybe that made me a bad friend, but I'd like to believe that I was doing Jonas a favor.

Everyone knew the more you loved, the more vulnerable you were to hurt.

* * *

**AN: ****Thank you so much for taking the time to read chapter three! Please let me know what you guys think about Zach's POV. I've never written from his perspective before, and I'm hoping I didn't botch it up. However, I would ask that if you do think I did a poor job of writing from his POV, that you don't simply say, "You suck!", and allow me to stew over all of my writing insecurities for days (totally has never happened before *laughs nervously*). I'd also like some helpful critique. Tell me what I can do better:)**

**Another thing I'd love for someone (or multiple someones if there are different answers) to comment on is this: Who the heck is Nick? I can't tell you how many Gallagher fanfics I've read where Macey is paired up with some kid named Nick instead of Preston (like, pssshh, consider me offended on behalf of my bby). Is Nick a made-up character that was first put in a popular GG fanfic and just stuck, or is everyone just stealing Nick from the Heist Society series since they're technically in the same universe? And if that latter, why Nick? Steal the twins! They were so much more entertaining than Nick. **

**For those of you that do think Zach was written poorly or OOC, I can see where you're coming from. He was a tad...harsh, which was really hard to write because I know that book Zach would totally support Jonas' pursuit of romance, but, if you're one of the people reading this who has also read the play, then you know that I totally made him way nice compared to what Benedick says to Claudio. ...Just saying... **

**I'd also like to point out that I don't necessarily share Zach's opinion on high school romance. If you're in high school and are in a relationship, don't listen to the people who tell you you're doomed. I have friends who started dating when he was a freshman and she was a senior, and they've been married for about 15 years and have 5 beautiful children.**

**Sorry for the long author's note. I love you all! Have an exciting day!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hello, my dears!**

**Wow, long time no see, right? In my defense, I told y'all it would probably be like this, however, I am still sorry. Fall semester ended, and I thought I'd have more time to write during the break, but that time was quickly filled with work and my best friend's wedding (and Christmas, obvi). **

**But! Today, for the first time in actual years, I had NO obligations (you know, besides the mountain of homework I will be ignoring until Sunday night). So, I sat down and pushed out a chapter that I, in all honestly, am really happy with. **

**Hope you guys like it too!**

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ado About Nothing.'**

* * *

** Chapter 4: Cammie's POV**

Reasons Why the First Day of My Senior Year was Different from All of My Other First Days of School Thus Far.

A list by Cameron Morgan

1) Liz had stayed awake for Tina's entire Narnia movie marathon, so she hit "snooze" once for the first time probably _ever_.

2) Mr. Smith had finally come back to us as a _Ms _Smith (and her plastic surgeon had totally been heavy handed with the silicone gel in the chest area).

3) A rope barrier had been placed around Gilly's sword for protection – not for the sword's protection, of course, but for the 7th graders'.

4) My hair _actually_ did what I wanted it to do.

5) It was my _last_ first day of school at the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women.

Normally, I wasn't the sentimental type when it came to those kinds of things. As spies, we couldn't afford to be overly emotional about every "last" thing because, honestly, any moment could be our last. If we cried over every potential "last" thing we did, we wouldn't stop. Better to live in the now and pray for a later.

That being said, I totally failed at not being sentimental and nostalgic on our first day back. I mean, since my _first_ first day, I knew there would eventually be a _last_ first day, so today should've been like any other day. But that knowledge didn't stop me from dressing in my cleanest, most last-first-day-worthy uniform, from taking an extra moment to admire Gilly's sword on the way down to the Grand Hall, or from savoring Chief Louis' special Belgium waffles that he _only _ever makes on the first day back. _Gosh, I was going to miss these._

"You gonna finish those?" Bex asked, pointing her fork at my waffle.

Apparently, I was savoring too slowly because most of the table was already done with their food and (at least in Bex's case) on the hunt for more.

"Yes." Then I shoveled another bite into my mouth. After I finished chewing and swallowing (because I was a lady), I said, "You should try mooching off of Liz, you know she hardly ever finishes."

Bex brightened at that until Macey muttered. "Good luck finding her."

I looked around and was surprised not to see Liz anywhere, which made me feel like a total failure as both a spy and a friend. "Where is she?"

Macey shrugged, not even looking up from the manicure she was giving herself – a manicure that would be ruined in just a few hours thanks to P and E, but I didn't bother pointing it out. "She disappeared with Grant like five minutes ago."

Bex and I shared a look.

_Grant?_

As far as I knew, Liz and Grant had never spoken more than three words to each other outside the classroom setting, so I had no idea what kind of conversation the two of them could possibly be having that would warrant leaving the Grand Hall. Before I could speculate, though, my sisters and temporary brothers (nope, that was weird. Not calling them that) collectively began to stand and gather their things. The first class of our last first day of school would be starting soon.

And just like that, I was feeling sentimental again.

* * *

Liz was already seated in Madam Dabney's room when we arrived for Culture and Assimilation… and so was Grant. But the two weren't talking or even sitting remotely close to each other, so one wouldn't even suspect that our shy, easily tongue-tied Liz had had a clandestine meeting with objectively the hottest of all the transfer boys. (Tina Walters had taken a poll sophomore year.)

Liz had never been too good at the lying part of spying, especially when it came to hiding things. So, when she smiled at our entrance and started enthusiastically waving us over, I had to wonder if Macey was wrong about what she saw. It wasn't the behavior you'd expect from someone with a secret to keep. Of course, it wasn't like Macey to be wrong either, so maybe their conversation was as innocent as Grant asking Liz for study tips or colored note cards – of which Liz had many.

But then Grant turned in his seat, pointedly looked at Liz, and smiled! Like, 1000 watt, both upper and lower teeth smiled! And if that wasn't enough to convince a girl that something was going on between a boy and one of her best friends, Liz totally started blushing! For once, the girl in me wanted to be in the know even more than the spy in me did.

But the girl in me would have to wait because just then Madam Dabney floated to the front of the room and clapped her hands. "Take your seats, everyone. Today we will be identifying and eventually replicating the coded message system the musical artists of the 18th and early 19th centuries weaved into their compositions."

I groaned internally. I wouldn't be able to ask about Grant during Dabney's class. Madam Dabney tended to play music a little too loud thanks to a minor explosion that took place in close quarters a long time ago – in one of the underground Nazi hideaways remaining in France after World War II to be exact.

So I sat patiently and listened to Bach and Mozart and Beethoven and a whole host of others while Madam Dabney explained the brilliance of using periods of rest to give the allied listener the name of a person or place, and then using major or minor keys to indicate if they were good or bad.

It was truly an interesting lesson, and I probably would've paid a lot more attention if Grant hadn't been shooting Liz meaningful glances throughout it.

_What is going on?_

Class ended and I immediately turned to Liz, but Madam Dabney was already calling her to the front to discuss an extra credit project she had done over the summer, and Tina was already slipping her arm through mine and dragging me out into the hall.

"So," Tina began, "is it true Zach asked you to be his girlfriend after you both left the Grand Hall yesterday?"

All the P and E training in the world couldn't keep me from missing a step on the stairs, but Tina was kind of known for her iron grip, so I didn't fall. But iron grip or no, when I righted myself, I pulled away to look at her squarely. "Of course not! Why would you think that?"

"Well, according to my sources, Zach followed you out of the Grand Hall after you left the opening ceremony."

I rolled my eyes. "Everyone saw that Tina. He was just –"

"And when he came back without you, he looked upset and hardly spoke to anyone."

My mouth quickly shut. That was news to me. Why would Zach be upset about yesterday? We'd gotten into much more heated arguments in the past, and those never seemed to bother him.

"So, I thought I'd come to you and get the juicy details on how you rejected him," Tina continued.

"There are no juicy details to get," I told her, continuing down the stairs. "Zach didn't ask me out. We just argued for a bit, then I went into my mom's office, and he went back down the hall."

"Oh." Tina deflated a bit, but another thought had her bouncing back. "What did you guys fight about?"

"We –" I paused. What _did_ we argue about? I thought back to our conversation, but all I could come up with were a slew of petty insults. I guess we hadn't really fought about anything in particular. If anything, we'd just angrily agreed with each other about the whole dating being a waste of time thing. Then there was that weird last bit, but I couldn't give Tina a definitive reason the argument started, just that it did.

"Nothing, Tina. We didn't fight about anything."

In Countries of the World (COW), Liz arrived later than the rest of us, so the only seat left was on the other side of the room. And just like in Madam Dabney's, Grant kept looking at Liz, and she would always respond with a smile or a blush or something along those lines. My curiosity was nearing its boiling point, and if I didn't find out what was going on soon, it was going to bubble over.

But after COW came Quantum Mechanics with Dr. Fibs, in which Liz acted as his assistant of sorts, standing at the front with him and retrieving materials when necessary. Then came Cov. Ops., and Liz was one of the few in our class who split away during that period to take Advanced Data Encryption instead. So, I had to remain infinitely curious until P and E.

* * *

It was _finally _time for P and E, and once in the barn, I quickly attached myself to Liz's side so when Professor Buckingham inevitably called for us to get into partners, there would be no question who my partner would be.

"Pipe down," Professor Buckingham said calmly but firmly. "Please find a stretching partner."

I nudged Liz. "Partner?" I asked innocently, as if I hadn't placed myself beside her intentionally.

She smiled. "Sure." Then lowered herself to the ground to stretch her legs.

I stood above her, grabbed her leg when she lifted it, and tried to come up with something to say. I'd been dying to know what was going on all day, but now that I finally had her essentially alone (you were never _truly _alone in a school full of spies), I didn't know how to approach the topic.

"Is there something you wanted to ask me, Cammie?"

Looked like she would be approaching it for me.

"Um. Yeah, actually. How'd you know?"

She snorted. "Really? Cam, you've been looking at me for hours like I'm an unstable chemical bond about to explode. What's wrong?"

Well, apparently summer break had made me rusty at concealing my thoughts and emotions. So, that was one thing wrong, but that obviously wasn't what she meant. We switched positions so I was the one on the floor. "I was actually hoping _you_ could tell me if something was wrong. Why did you leave the Grand Hall with Grant this morning?"

"Oh," she pushed my leg toward my head, "that."

"I wouldn't have said anything, except that you both have been giving each other…_looks_ all day. And, I don't know, I guess I didn't know you guys were even friends, so I just wanted to make sure everything was alright." She quirked an eyebrow at me. "Okay, so I wanted to be nosey, too, but can you blame me?"

She sighed as she released my left leg and moved on to my right. "No, I can't. But really, it's not what you think."

"So, Grant didn't give you a strand of his hair so you could clone him, and he could flirt with multiple girls at once?" I teased.

Liz frowned. "Of course not. Everyone knows Dr. Fibs and I haven't tested that technology on animals and humans yet."

"Right, of course."

"Actually, our conversation had nothing to do with Grant. He only wanted to talk about Jonas."

I sat up. "Jonas?"

She blushed. "Yep. He, uh, wanted to know what I thought about Jonas."

"Like, what you thought of the new research paper he published?"

"Um, more like what I thought of his character, personality, and…looks."

My brows drew together. A boy pulled Liz aside so he could ask her if she thought a different boy was _attractive_? I looked at Liz and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing: we had _so _many questions to ask Macey.

"Alright," Buckingham called, "find a new partner to spar with and begin."

This was usually how Buckingham ran her classes. One partner for this, another partner for that. It was her way of getting us out of our comfort zones and building as much trust with as many people as possible. As if we hadn't been learning to trust each other for the past five years.

I spun around in search of Courtney or Eva. They'd been working on perfecting the Hasani Maneuver together, and I'd been hoping one of them could help me work on it. But rather than finding Courtney or Eva, I spun right into someone's chest – a decidedly male chest.

_No. Please no._

"Hi again, Gallagher Girl."

I muttered a curse in Portuguese.

Zach laughed. "Such foul words coming from Gallagher's darling. What would the trustees say?"

I almost, emphasis on _almost_, flinched at the "darling" comment, knowing it was far from the truth. My mother wasn't in danger of being fired, but the trustees haven't always been too happy with some of her more controversial decisions. Their subtle dislike simply fell on me by relation.

"If they ever meet you, I'm sure they'll understand," I said.

His smile grew, and I stepped around him, looking for Courtney or Eva, but they were already paired up. In fact, everyone was paired up. Everyone except –

"Cameron, Zachary, less talking, more sparring."

_Great._

"Come on, Gallagher Girl. Don't tell me you're afraid I'll win."

Oh, it was on.

I faced off against him and lowered myself into a fighting stance. He responded in kind and we circled each other.

He made the first move, throwing a punch at my head. I ducked, then immediately brought my arm up to block the elbow that was heading toward my temple. I shoved his arm away while he continued his assault, aiming a kick at my left side. I jumped back to dodge him, and he stepped forward, taking advantage of the ground I'd just given him. _Rats_. I wanted that ground back, so I, too, took a step forward, invading his space and using his extra height against him. If his punches and kicks wanted the wind-up room to do any damage, he'd have to take a step back.

But instead of backing up like I expected him to, he grabbed my now perfectly-within-reach arm, spun, and flipped me over his shoulder. I landed on my back with an _oof _and quickly rolled to my feet before he could pin me with his knees.

Once I was on my feet again, we were right back where we started, crouching and circling.

"Your move, Gallagher Girl."

"What?"

"I made the first move, so now it's your turn."

"Oh, is that how sparring works in the real world? The good guys and the bad guys wait and take turns?"

"We aren't in the real world yet."

"But we're preparing for it."

Zach smirked. "So, which one of us is the good guy and which is the bad guy?"

I didn't know how to answer that, so I punched him. A lightning-fast jab to his gut. He doubled over and I brought my knee to his forehead, sending him to his back. I moved to pin him, but he scissored my legs between his and twisted, bringing me to the floor with him.

He tried to position himself over me, but I shoved my foot into his shoulder and threw him to his back once again. Before he could raise his leg to pull a similar move on me, I was there, flipping him to his stomach, sitting on his lower back, and twisting his arms behind him. I had him pinned.

I lifted my head to look for Professor Buckingham, she was the only one who could declare the winners of our spars, but she was busy telling Liz the proper way to land after being thrown by an opponent.

"Hey, Gallagher Girl," Zach said, drawing my attention back to him, "I wanted to apologize for yesterday."

What? Why would he bring _that _up? First Tina and now him – it was like I couldn't escape that stupid conversation.

_Of course, this _could _be his way of distracting me enough to break out of my hold. _So, I tightened my grip on his arms and he winced.

"Apologize?" I asked. "What for?"

"Well," – he craned his neck as best he could to look at me – "it was brought to my attention that I wasn't very forthcoming with what I wanted."

His eyes met mine, and I was surprised to feel my heart do a little squeezy thing in my chest. _The heck? _Definitely _not _a reaction Zachary Goode had ever incited in me.

Then my mind finally caught up and heard what he said. My eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

He relaxed his neck and let his cheek fall back to the mat. "To not be your enemy."

Is that what he thought we were? Enemies? The word sounded so harsh.

"We're not enemies," I told him. "We're…we're rivals."

"You'll find rival right next to enemy in a thesaurus."

If I wasn't holding him down, I would've thrown up my hands. "What do you want me to be if not your enemy or rival, Zach?"

"We could try being friends."

I didn't know what I was expecting him to say, but it sure wasn't that. I must've been shocked enough to let my hands loosen because Zach was able to yank his arms free, roll us so he was on top, and pin my arms on either side of my head.

I looked up to see a smiling Zach leaning closer. I tried backing away, but I could hardly push myself through the floor.

"Don't look so disgusted, Gallagher Girl," he whispered in my ear.

My first thought was that, yep, I really _did _need to work on concealing my feelings better. But my second thought was the one that gave me pause: I wasn't disgusted.

Before I could deny or confirm my "disgust" (I honestly didn't know which I would've done), Buckingham was declaring Zach the winner, he was lifting his weight off of me, and I was being pulled to my feet. Then he turned and began walking away, but I grabbed his arm.

"That's it? After years of hating each other, you're just going to say you want to be my friend and walk away?"

He smirked, and it might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw a warmth in it that usually wasn't there. "Your move."

* * *

**AN: Thank you so very much for taking the time to read this chapter. Y'all are peaches, every last one of you! Please let me know what you thought in an encouraging comment or respectful critique. **

**So, things are progressing between Zach and Cammie. We like? (Duh, Rachel, that's what we're all here for.) I guess what I'm asking is do you think things are progressing nicely. Not too fast, not too slow. It's so much easier to recognize fast or slow pacing in other's work, not so much your own. Y'all ever notice that?**

**One more thing, the "Hasani Maneuver" is definitely NOT a thing. You can google it. I have no idea what you'll find, but it probably won't be combat technique. Just saying.**

**Love you all! Have an awesome day! **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Hello, my friends and associates!**

**New chapter! Yay! **

**Unfortunately, the time to write this came about because my university is currently shut down due to the corona-virus. All of my classes are transitioning to an online medium next week (which sucks), but the important thing is to slow-and hopefully stop-the spread of corona. Wash your hands, everyone, and please be safe!**

**P.S. I will be asking a polling question in my end-of-the-chapter author's note that I hope you will all take just a moment to answer:) Thank you much!**

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ado About Nothing.' **

* * *

**Chapter 5: Cammie's POV **

"So, let me get this straight," Macey said the next morning as we made our way down to the Grand Hall, "Grant pulled you aside so he could ask you about Jonas?"

Liz nodded emphatically. "I don't understand why, though. Does…does Jonas _like _me?"

Macey shrugged. "Possibly. But it could also mean that Grant is simply trying to set you both up. I mean, he did pull you out of the Grand Hall. Maybe he didn't want Jonas to see his interference."

Liz's face fell as we reached the bottom of the staircase. "So, Jonas doesn't like me."

"I highly doubt that. Even if the Set Up theory is the right one, then it was probably brought on by Jonas showing an interest. However, I think it's more likely that Grant has been recruited to play wingman."

"Wingman?"

We reached the Grand Hall doors, but before entering, Macey sighed loud and long, spinning slowly to face all of us. "Yes. Wingman. A person who helps another person seduce another person."

Macey could tell we were still confused, so she rolled her eyes and said. "Liz is the subject, Jonas is the eyeball, and Grant is the backup."

"Oooooh," we all said, finally understanding once she started using spy jargon.

Goes to show how much I remembered about the world outside the academy. Sure, I was twelve when I'd started attending, which is plenty old enough to start liking boys, but 5th and 6th graders hardly used _wingmen _to try to get a girl's attention. No, their idea of flirting involved pulling hair and pushing around, which was unfortunate for me—or, I supposed, more so for them—because they stopped when they found out that I pushed back…harder, much, much harder.

Bex laughed then. "What kind of wimp needs backup to ask someone out?"

Macey raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Have you ever asked anyone out?"

"No," Bex mumbled.

"When you really like someone, it's a lot harder than you think," Macey told us with a shrug. "Non-spy life can be its own mission, and sometimes you need backup."

"What's this about a mission?" a deep voice asked behind us.

We all spun to see Grant, Jonas, and Zach approaching. Grant was leading the group with a big, radiant smile that I think made even Macey swoon a little. I mean, seriously. The guy was too attractive for his own good.

"Oh, nothing," Bex said, recovering first. "We were just talking about the op Liz went on with the CIA last year. They couldn't get through a few measly firewalls, so they brought Liz in and had her break them down."

The story was more or less true. By "CIA," Bex meant "Mr. Solomon" (who _is _a semi-retired CIA agent); by "brought Liz in," she meant "asked nicely for her help"; and by "firewalls" she meant "a narrow crevice that Mr. Solomon's hand was too big to get through, and at the bottom of which was his favorite pen." See? Totally true-ish.

What surprised me, though, wasn't the half-truth that came to Bex's lips, rather it was how quickly she'd slipped into a wingman role after learning of its existence only minutes ago. And if the impressed looks on the boys' faces were any indication, she was already a pro.

Jonas smiled at Liz (who was turning a very deep shade of red). "Wow. That's-"

"Amazing," Grant interjected, then he slung his arm around Jonas' shoulders. "But did you know my boy Jonas here has a satellite that he designed and built for NASA in outer space right now?"

Liz's eyes widened. "Really? That's-"

"Cool," Bex said, not taking her eyes off Grant. "Liz had her research published in _Scientific America _at age nine."

"Jonas has written multiple volumes about data encryption," Grant countered.

"Liz has already been accepted into Harvard, Yale, Brown, Stanford, MIT, and six other schools she hasn't even applied for."

"Jonas has the highest IQ at Blackthorne."

"Liz joined Mensa when she was in 3rd grade."

"American Mensa doesn't let you take the admissions test till you're fourteen!"

"They made an exception!"

Okay. I take back what I said about Bex being a pro because by this point, Bex and Grant were just snarling in each other's faces. Not much wingmanning was going on from either side.

Macey must've thought so too because she managed to step between them and say, "We get it! Liz and Jonas are very smart. Not sure the same can be said for every individual here." She eyed Bex and Grant in turn, who both had the decency to look a little bit ashamed.

Jonas, who glared at Grant as he stepped around him, walked over to Liz and very sweetly asked, "Would you like to sit together for breakfast?"

Liz was blushing again, but it was accompanied with a wide smile as she told him, "Yes."

Then Jonas opened the door for her, and they stepped into the Grand Hall. Macey, Bex, and Grant were right behind them, and I was about to follow when Zach spoke.

"You're awfully quiet today, Gallagher Girl."

Well, to be honest, I hadn't talked much at all since yesterday. Instead I'd been overthinking his whole "your move" thing, but I could hardly tell him that, so I said. "You're awfully quiet yourself."

He shrugged and smiled. "I didn't have anything to say."

"That would be a first," I scoffed.

The smiled dropped and his face visibly hardened. Regret quickly bloomed in my chest. Normally I would be pleased with such a reaction, but right then I wanted to cram the words back down my throat.

"So, I guess you've decided to keep us in the strictly 'enemies' category."

"Zach, that's not what I-"

"It's fine, Cameron. I'm relieved, actually. I wouldn't know how to be friends with you even if they offered a class on it."

The use of my full name and the admission of relief was a one-two punch, and just like in 5th and 6th grade, I punched back.

"Only you would need an entire class about how to make friends. Most people just try being decent human beings."

"Are you calling me indecent? Because I assure you, this is a government approved school uniform."

I looked down at said uniform. "Your pant legs aren't creased. They're supposed to be creased."

"And your skirt is an inch and a half too short."

My jaw dropped. So I'd grown a little since last year and hadn't bought new skirts, sue me! "How could you possibly notice that? My mom hasn't even noticed that!"

He smiled down at me and pointed to himself. "Spy."

I could probably write a whole book about how much I hated when he said that to me. Was he a spy? Sure. But his tone always made me feel like he was implying that I wasn't one.

"Whatever," I grumbled, tugging at my hemline. "I wasn't talking about your attire. I meant that you need to get a decent personality."

"Can't. Too busy winning sparring matches."

He knew exactly what to say to piss me off.

"I won that match and you know it!" I growled, stepping forward. "Buckingham just wasn't paying attention when I had you pinned."

"Oh, is that how sparring works in the real world?" he asked, tilting his head mockingly. "The good guys and bad guys stop fighting once someone is pinned?"

"Don't use my own words against me!" I practically yelled, jabbing at his chest with my finger.

The chest-jabbing, however, was ill conceived because Zach had a very broad and a very firm chest. It was the kind of chest that could only be born of years of intense physical training. There was zero give under my fingertip, and, despite my anger, a girl couldn't simply move on without appreciating that. So, I jabbed him again.

But this time he grabbed the wrist of my offending hand. "Tell me then, what should I use against you?" He walked me backward till my back hit the door to the Grand Hall. "Physical violence like yourself?"

My back hitting the door didn't knock the breath out of me, but the fact that Zach was now pressing me against it certainly did, so it took me a few seconds before I could say, "Poking someone is hardly violent. Throwing them against a wall on the other hand…"

"Throw you?" He laughed then, deep and full. "Dramatic today, aren't we?"

"Zach-"

"If you don't want to use words, we can just duke it out instead."

"Zach-"

"We could skip breakfast and go to the P&E barn, have a rematch."

"Zach! Get off of-"

Just then the door behind me opened and I was falling. Zach's eyes grew large and he reached for me, but in his attempt to stop my fall, he came crashing down with me.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the floor's impact (an impact made less painful by the hand cradling the back of my head), but when I opened them, I wished I hadn't.

I was lying on the floor. Zach was sprawled over me. Macey was standing above us with a look of surprise that slowly morphed into a knowing smirk.

And the _entire Gallagher student body_ was there watching it all.

"I'm going to kill you," I told the boy on top of me.

* * *

For the rest of the day I avoided Zach at all costs. Rumors regarding the nature of Zach and I's relationship were already circulating, and I wasn't going to add fuel to the fire.

Adding water to the fire wasn't an option either. No matter what I said, everyone (except my loyal roommates) thought there was something going on between the two of us. My mom even pulled me aside at one point to talk about Gallagher standards on appropriate behavior between students, but she didn't seem mad at all, and the whole conversation felt less like a reprimand and more like an I-told-you-so.

I was seriously going to kill Zach Goode.

"It wasn't that bad," Liz said as we headed to our last class of the day.

Macey bit back a smile and Bex choked on a laugh she tried to hold back.

"You're a terrible liar," I told Liz, and she sighed.

"Okay. So it was bad, but it could have been worse."

I wound my hair into a ponytail and pulled it tight with a little more force than necessary. "How, Liz? How exactly could it have been worse?"

"The whole school could've seen you guys kiss."

"Gross. We were _not _kissing."

"Try telling everyone else that," Bex murmured under her breath, but I still heard her.

I stopped cold. "Wait," I said, horror evident in my voice. "Are- are you guys saying that everyone thinks Zach and I were _kissing_?!"

"He literally fell on top of you," Macey said. "Either he was pressing you against the door in a passionate kiss, or you guys were out there playing tackle football and I just happened to open the door at the right time."

Well, he _had _been pressing me to the door, but there was absolutely no passionate lip touching going on. Maybe some chest touching and some unintentional thigh touching, but those touches were more "I'm going to take you down" and less "I'm going to take you." There was a difference.

But I didn't know how to explain that difference, so I just grumbled, "We weren't kissing."

"I believe you, Cam," Bex said, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Thanks, Bex. I appreciate-"

"My lie detecting ring from Dr. Fibs didn't vibrate, so you're in the clear."

I let out a deep sigh as we finally arrived at the classroom that, until this year, had been abandoned.

However, once we were inside, I realized that "classroom" might have been a bit of a stretch. The room looked more like an empty warehouse. Cement walls, a cement floor, and a very high cement ceiling surrounded us, all colored the same dull gray. On the far side of the room, a large net hung from wall to wall and thick, blue tumbling mats had been laid down underneath it. There were no desks or chairs telling us where to place ourselves, but Mr. Solomon stood in the center of the room next to a sheet-covered object and a woman I'd never seen before, so that seemed like the right place to congregate.

A semi-circle of students was already forming, and among them was Zach, standing, of course, dead center in front of Mr. Solomon. So I did my congregating at the end of the curve, as far away from the center as possible.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Solomon began, leaning his signature lean on the table holding the covered object. "Today we are starting our first lesson concerning the proper and safe use of a new piece of classified machinery: solitary aero-mobilizing technology."

I didn't miss that he'd said "_our _first lesson"and not "_your _first lesson." Sure SAM tech had only recently been declared usable, but I'd sort of been hoping that the professor the trustees had picked to teach us was going to have _some _experience. Bad things tended to happen when the blind led the blind.

With his thumb and index fingers, Mr. Solomon pinched the top of the sheet and whipped it away like a birthday party magician, revealing something much more magical than a bunny in a top-hat. It was possibly the coolest thing I'd ever seen in my young life.

The SAM tech was everything I'd imagined a bona fide jetpack would look like: sleek, shiny, and no larger than a backpack. It was awesome!

"This device," our teacher said, slapping it like it were the hood of a car, "is run by rocket power. It has been tested at altitudes of over 3,500 feet, it has been clocked at a maximum speed of 60 miles per hour, and it can hold anyone weighing under 200 pounds for about an hour. You will all be expected to fly this machine with respect—no messing around and no joyrides after hours. It is an extremely useful device, ladies and gentlemen, but it's also extremely dangerous. Listen to instruction and you'll all be flying soon."

Dangerous flying contraptions? Every spy's kryptonite! Bex was practically vibrating beside me with excitement, the whole class was.

Mr. Solomon noted our anticipation and smiled. "Today, however, you will be learning its mechanics." And with that, a collective deflation swept across the crowd. "I don't care how well you can operate and maneuver SAM tech once you're in the air. If this thing breaks or malfunctions, you'd better know how to fix it. Your life could depend on it."

I was pretty sure our lives depended on getting to fly a real jetpack ASAP, but I didn't say so.

The unfamiliar woman stepped forward then. She was short and pretty, with a mass of curly red hair tied in a knot at the top of her head and large, brown eyes. Her smile, though, stood out the most. It was wide and excited. I liked her immediately.

"My name is Dr. Jaclyn Bleu," she said. "I am the head engineer for the SAM tech project. I designed and built this very model, so I know all of its ins and outs, and I've been asked to teach them to you."

And she did. For the next hour and fifteen minutes, we listened to and watched everything Dr. Bleu said and did as she disassembled then reassembled the jetpacks innards.

By the end of the lesson, I was in serious need of some mindless, destressing stimulation. Or, better yet, no stimulation. Too many pieces and parts and all of their functions were crammed into my head. Chef Louis' crème brulee, a hot shower, and my bed sounded really good right about then.

Mr. Solomon dismissed us, and we all started making our way to the Grand Hall for dinner. I lingered behind the pack, walking at a slower pace so as to avoid running into Zach.

By the time I made it to the Grand Hall, dinner was in full swing. Everyone was chowing down and some of the fast eaters were already done. Not willing to miss out, I began weaving my way through the tables to where the rest of the seniors sat. As covertly as possible, I glanced at the far-right end of the long table where Zach usually sat, but he wasn't there. A sweep down the rest of the table told me he wasn't sitting anywhere, and I stopped walking.

_What if he's in the bathroom, and I accidentally sit in a seat that's somewhat close to him, and then he comes back, and we have to join in the same conversations, and people think that we're sitting together because we're a couple?_

I quickly took a panicked step back, but it was at that moment that a very fast and surprisingly bulky 8th grade Blackthorne boy came rushing by in the space right behind me—or, it _would've _been the space right behind me if I hadn't taken that step backward. His shoulder rammed into me with the force of a battering ram, and, taken off guard as I was, I was forced to the ground for the second time in one day. (Note: this tally does not include ground-forcings in P&E.)

But then I wasn't on the ground. It certainly didn't feel like the ground, anyway. No, I was pretty sure what I'd fallen into was a lap. I felt legs beneath me and arms around me, and a deep voice above me was saying, "Est-ce que tu vas bien?"

No. Surely life wasn't this cruel. Surely the fates above hadn't forced me into two public, physical situations with Zach within a 24-hour period. I wasn't sure I could handle that kind of humiliation.

"Cameron?" the voice asked.

_Cameron, not Gallagher Girl._

I opened my eyes to see hazel eyes, not green ones. Sandy blonde hair, not brown. Another boy, not Zach.

"Cameron," he said again, concern filling his features at what was probably a dazed and confused expression, "I asked if you were alright."

* * *

**AN: First, please don't hate me for that chapter ending! Second, and more importantly, Thank you so much, you wonderful people, for taking the time to read this next chapter of Much Ado! Please leave an encouraging comment or helpful review! If not, that's cool, but please consider answering the following question for me.**

**Okay, this is the poll: Do you think Joe found out about Josh A) after Cammie and Josh's first date in chapter 17, B) at the the Roseville dance thingy in chapter 19, or C) not until Cammie confronts Josh and Dillon outside the academy in chapter 26, and he's semi-creepily watching and waiting from afar in what I imagine to be a windowless van to semi-kidnap her? **

**Please pick one of these three options. If you think it was at a different time, that's awesome! But I only have ideas for these three choices. I will eventually be writing a chapter (not in this story) from Joe's POV about the big relationship discovery, and I plan on using whichever scenario gets the most votes. So, choose your favorite and hopefully I'll be writing about it soon! **

**And since we're on the subject, I just want to say that Joe Solomon is probably one of my favorite characters in the series (I would weep tears of joy if Ally ever released anything in his POV). That being said, I'm currently thinking about writing a series of one-shots from his perspective, and I wanted to start with the scene where he learns about Josh (IDk why. Just...humor me.) So, would that be something y'all would be interested in reading?**

**ANYWAY! Let's talk about the chapter at hand. We're getting a little frisky? Risque? Indelicate? You know what I mean! Nothing too crazy, but this fic _is_ rated T. Nothing that should belong under an "M" rating will be joining the party, but we're not going to keep things completely clean, so just be wary my young travelers as we move forward.**

**Next topic! Fellow Shakespeareians, my deepest apologies! Y'all are probably like, "Okay, Rachel, there were three or four modified lines from the play in chapter two, and like one in chapter three, but now you've completely lost us! Where's the Much Ado plot?" Don't worry. It's buried somewhere in here, and it will continue to surface at key plot points. In this chapter we're starting to see Hero (Liz) and Claudio (Jonas) getting closer, so, you know, that's something:)**

**Next! This one is for those of you who are native speakers (or just speakers in general) of the French language. I am SOOOOO SORRY if I messed your beautiful language up. I don't speak French. I am a sad, pathetic monolingual. I know it can't always be trusted, but I used google translate for that little bit of French at the end. He was supposed to say, "Are you alright?" So, if he didn't, again, I apologize.**

**Finally, where my tech and gadgetry people at? Did y'all know jetpacks exist? Not many of them, but they're out there in the world somewhere. Anywho, the stats that Mr. Solomon was rambling off about the SAM tech were slightly exaggerated stats about real life jetpacks. The Gallagher jetpacks, though, are more advanced than anything we have in our current day and age because this is fiction...and I can do that. **

**Sorry for the long author's note. **

**I love you all! Have a safe/virus-free day! **


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hiya, my fellow comrades in ****quarantine!**

**New chapter for Much Ado!**

**Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ago About Nothing.' **

* * *

**Chapter 6: Cammie's POV**

I should've immediately jumped up and apologized, but I feel I shouldn't be judged too harshly for my momentary lack of reaction. After all, more capable spies than I, not to mention girls, would also be rendered reactionless if the full force of Grant Newman's concern was blasting them in the face.

But something was off about him. I'd seen Grant a few times since Blackthorne's arrival, and I distinctly remembered his shoulders being a bit broader, his jaw being a bit sharper, and his hair being a bit shorter. Unless he had used Dr. Fibs' extra strong hair-growth serum, I didn't think it was possible for Grant's hair to grow into the longer, boyish waves that were resting on his brow right then between the time we left SAM tech class and now.

"Cameron, are you alright?" Grant/not Grant asked again.

"I, um…yes?"

It came out as more of a question, and I honestly wouldn't have been offended if he'd looked at me like I was a little bit insane, but the boy above me just smiled a very Grantish smile that said he thought my disorientedness was cute. And let me tell you, that wasn't a look I got often.

Genuinely freaked out, I tried to stand, but Grant/not Grant was still holding me.

"Could you?" I asked, pointing to his arms.

"Of course. I apologize," he said as he released my waist and took my hands, helping me to my feet.

"Thank you," I said, taking a step back as he stood with me—this time looking both ways in case any other underclassmen wanted to come barreling by at that moment.

"No problem," he said, pushing a hand through the wavy locks on his forehead only to have them fall back into his face. "Though it was hardly a chore to have a pretty girl land in my arms like a damsel."

My mind quickly flashed to an 8th grade memory. Different boy, different circumstances, same stupid word.

I must've made a face because his flirtatious smile faltered. "I'm sorry, that was too much."

Grant had always been unapologetic in his forward flirting, so that, more than anything, told me that either A) Grant had a brother that, for some reason or other, none of us knew about, or B) Liz had lied to me yesterday about the whole Grant-cloning-himself-so-he-could-flirt-with-multiple-girls-at-once thing. My bet, however, was on the former—not because I didn't believe in Fibs' and Liz's cloning machine capabilities or Grant's desire to use one, but because I knew Liz would never lie to me.

I smiled at the endearing touch of self-doubt. "It's okay. Word to the wise, you won't find too many girls around here who like being called a 'damsel,' uh…"

"Dominick," he supplied for me, holding out his hand in a way that would make Madam Dabney proud. "Dominick Newman."

"I didn't know Grant had a brother," I told him, taking his offered hand.

Dominick's smile held, but it seemed to take on a forced quality. "Not many people do. I've always kinda lived in Grant's shadow." He laughed it off. "Product of being a younger sibling, I guess."

"Or," I said, "the signs of being a really good pavement artist. I'm Cammie, by the way." Yes, technically he somehow already knew my name, but five years of C&A dictated that I introduce myself anyway.

"I know. Everyone knows who you are. You're kind of a big deal around here."

My brow pinched and my mouth screwed into a grimace. "Me?"

"Sure. You're a senior, you have famous spy parents, you're the Headmistress' daughter, and you're practically Solomon's step-daughter…also"—he tilted his head then and looked me up and down, evaluating me— "they say you're good."

I wasn't sure how I felt about an ominous "they" saying I was "good." Good at what, exactly? Going unseen? Organic chemistry? Spying in general?

"What do you-"

"Cameron, Dominick," Madam Dabney said sternly. "_Français avec un accent parisien, s'il vous plaît_."

"_Je suis désolée, Madame Dabney. C'était de ma faute. Ceci ne se reproduira pas," _Dominick smoothly said with a gorgeous smile, a smile that would not have made Madam Dabney simply move on with a knowing chuckle had I tried it.

"_Voulez-vous me rejoindre pour le dîner, la demoiselle Cameron?_"

I laughed at his use of "damsel" this time and accepted his offer by taking a seat on the bench. I'd apologize to my friends later; they would understand that sitting at the juniors' table would definitely keep me from running into Zach.

* * *

**Zach's POV**

I needed to talk to Cammie.

After the _incident _at breakfast, she'd thrown me off of her (yes, _thrown_) and stormed to the far end of the senior table from which I usually sat. I'd wanted to apologize, genuinely apologize, but I figured I'd give her some time to cool off.

Later, at lunch, I sat close to where she'd sat at breakfast, but she'd noticed and decided to sit as far as possible from me again. And, of course, she avoided me in the hallways and all of our classes.

Once our last class of the day dismissed, I noticed her falling back, purposefully lagging behind everyone to keep up this little avoidance game she'd started. That was fine by me. I could play her game too.

So, after rounding the first corner that would take me to the Grand Hall, I pushed myself into the shadows of a small alcove and waited for her to pass. She eventually did, and I waited another five minutes—enough time for her to find her friends and settle on a seat—then made my way to the Grand Hall.

I pushed through the large, double doors just in time to see Branden, one of our more reckless 8th graders, slam into a wary-looking Cammie at full speed.

My mind knew that she was fine, that she'd probably been hit much harder dozens of times, but my body still reacted to the impact. For one heartbeat, my chest constricted painfully, and I gasped as if she'd been shot. Without thinking, I took a few useless running steps toward her as if I could catch her before she fell.

But I was too far away, and someone else…wasn't.

As if someone had turned on one of those cheesy rom-coms, I watched as Cammie fell directly into the lap of none other than Newman's little brother, Dominick. His arms came around her and he looked down at her with concern. His lips formed words, but I could tell they weren't English. I looked up at one of the monitors that determined which language and accent we were to speak in and grimaced as I read "Parisian, French." This really was a scene from a rom-com.

It was then I realized that I was very conspicuously standing in the middle of the Grand Hall, looking at the girl that most of the student body thought I was dating. It wasn't true, of course, but I sure wasn't helping my case by openly staring at Cammie like some concerned boyfriend.

Thankfully, it seemed like everyone was watching them instead of me, so I was able to casually get closer to the _adorable_ duo. No one even noticed me until I walked up to the sophomore table and smiled down at the girl sitting closest to the scene unfolding behind me.

"Mind if I sit here?" I asked, faux pleading in my eyes and nothing but sincerity in my smile.

Her eyes grew large and her mouth opened and closed like a fish. Finally, she just wordlessly scooted down, offering me the spot.

I took a seat and watched their warped reflection in the sterling silver juice pitcher as Dominick helped Cammie to her feet. I tuned out all of the other conversations around me and listened as she thanked him.

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes when Dominick ran his fingers through his bangs. Being his brother's best friend, I knew that Dominick took great pride in his hair. Drawing attention to it was a sure sign that he was flirting.

_Good luck, buddy. Cam, apparently, has an even greater aversion to dating than I do. _

"No problem," he said. "Though it was hardly a chore to have a pretty girl land in my arms like a damsel."

I couldn't hold back my wince. I suddenly felt very bad for Dominick because there was no way Cammie was going to let that slide.

I'd made the mistake of calling her a damsel once in 8th grade. Back then she'd hurt her ankle in P&E, and the instructor had asked me to help her to the infirmary (spy school version of a nurse's office). I'd been carrying her on my back, and we were halfway between the barn and the school when I'd made the comment. She hadn't taken it well. Not ten seconds later, I'd been sprawled across the ground, watching her limp her way to the school herself.

Presently, Cammie's face showed her distaste and I thought she was gonna let him have it, but before she could move to take him down, Dominick started apologizing.

_Sorry, Dom. That's probably not going to-_

"It's okay. Word to the wise, you won't find too many girls around here who like being called a 'damsel,' uh…"

"Dominick. Dominick Newman."

_What?! Are you kidding me? How is it fair that Dominick gets a "it's okay" and a smile, and I got a punch to the gut and a shoulder flip?_

"I didn't know Grant had a brother," she said as I watched their reflection shake hands. _What high schoolers shake hands when they meet each other anyway?_

"Not many people do. I've always kinda lived in Grant's shadow. Product of being a younger sibling, I guess."

Compassion filled her eyes and tipped her lips into a smile. "Or, the signs of being a really good pavement artist. I'm Cammie, by the way."

"I know. Everyone knows who you are. You're kind of a big deal around here."

As much as I hated to admit it, Dominick wasn't wrong. Almost everyone in the government alphabet, especially those in the CIA, knew the last name "Morgan." And I could remember one or two occasions when Joe had subbed at Blackthorne and mentioned Cammie's name as an example.

So, it was kind of amusing to see her eyes crinkle in confusion as she pointed to her chest and said, "Me?"

"Sure," Dominick continued with a shrug. "You're a senior, you have famous spy parents, you're the Headmistress' daughter, and you're practically Solomon's step-daughter…also, they say you're good."

His eyes slid up and down her then, and when he smirked, I knew I wasn't the only one to notice the shorter-than-Gallagher-standards hemline.

Once again, my mind and body had two different reactions. My mind knew that Dominick was a good guy and that I had no reason in the world to get angry at him for checking Cammie out. But my body still insisted on narrowing my eyes and clenching my fists.

_What the heck is wrong with me?_

Cammie, either oblivious to or unconcerned with the eye roaming, took a step closer. "What do you-"

My make-do spying screen was suddenly filled with nothing but Madam Dabney's backside as she stepped between me and my current POIs (person of interest). Slightly traumatized, I quickly looked away as she began admonishing them for not conversing in French.

Dominick, always the charmer, apologized and took the blame, telling her it wouldn't happen again in a perfect Parisian accent. The sheer, unadulterated gentlemanliness of it all must've touched our Culture and Assimilation professor, because Madam Dabney just moved on without further comment.

He then turned to Cammie, and with a gallant sweep of his hand, he asked her to sit with him, calling her "damsel Cameron," like it was some kind of honorific, in the process.

I thought for sure she was going to punch him this time since she'd clearly told him she didn't like the derogatory endearment. But she just laughed as if it were now an inside joke and took the offered seat.

He sat down beside her and then they were both laughing and talking about the ridiculous situation Branden had put them in. It was too cutesy for my taste, the whole thing was, so I looked away and stopped straining to listen to them.

Without my attention otherwise engaged, I noticed that the entire sophomore class was either staring at me or whispering behind their hands about me like I was an alien or a celebrity. Or both.

"It's been a pleasure, ladies," I said with a wink. Then I stood and found a place beside Grant at the senior table.

He nudged my arm with his elbow and laughed. "Leaving Morgan to rob the cradle, huh?" he joked. "She's gonna be heartbroken."

I stole a glance at the junior table. Dominick was messing with his hair again and Cammie was smiling at something he said. They looked like a couple. Which was good. Very, very good. Anything to keep people from thinking _we _were a couple, right? This solved all of our problems. Things could go back to the way they were.

I looked at Grant and forced my usual carefree smirk onto my face. "I'm not too sure about that."

* * *

**AN: Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! Please let me know what you thought in a comment or helpful critique! You'd be doing me a huge solid:)**

**First, before we talk about the chapter, I want to again encourage you to answer the polling question I asked in last chapter's author's note. I've gotten only three responses so far and all of them answered differently. (Y'all are killing me, but still, thank you to those who took the time to leave an answer! Multiple gold stars!) So, if you haven't done so already, please take a look at the question and let me know what you think about when Joe discovered Josh and Cammie's secret. Thank you!**

**In regards to this chapter, I want to apologize... but not really since we all know that No Conflict does not a Good Plot make, so just hang in there my fellow Zammie lovers! I'm right there with you. We share a wavelength. **

**If you're a speaker of the French language, I apologize for my lack of linguistic ability. I have no idea if the French I used actually says what I want it to. It's supposed to go something like...**

**Dabney: "Cameron, Dominick. French with a Parisian accent, please."**

**Dominick: "I'm sorry, Madam Dabney. It's my fault. It won't happen again."**

**Dominick again: "Will you join me for dinner, damsel Cameron?" **

**So, you know, hopefully that's what they said.**

**Until next time, my dears! Have a marvelous day! **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Hi there, friends!**

**YAY! Spring semester is over! And what a semester is was! Like, holy cow. Anyone relate?**

**Anyway, new chapter:) I'm hoping to make some headway with this story over the summer, but, again, I can't promise anything consistent. But I CAN promise that I will finish this story, and I will definitely let you know when it is finished (I say this for the few commenters who seemed to think chapter six was the last chapter. Don't worry, pals. I may be slow to update, but I would never end a story like that. Much Ado has a while to go.)**

**Happy reading! **

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ado About Nothing.'**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Cammie's POV**

It had been over two weeks since Zach and I's rather conspicuous (not to mention somewhat scandalous) entrance into the Grand Hall, and the rumors regarding our "relationship" were _finally _starting to gutter out.

I chalked the loss of interest up to a few things:

A) My avoidance of Zach.

B) Zach's avoidance of me. (But seriously, _he'd_ been going out of _his_ way to avoid _me_ more than _I_ usually went out of _my_ way to avoid _him_. It was…weird.)

C) There was a real, not-fabricated-by-the-student-body-and-my-mother romance forming between a different Gallagher Girl and Blackthorne Boy.

"He asked me if I wanted to get dinner then go see a movie with him!" Liz practically sang as she bounced from cloud to cloud on her way to Quantum Mechanics class Thursday afternoon.

Us mortals walked on the solid ground beside her, waiting to catch her when she inevitably tripped on her own two feet in her overly excited state.

"Really?" Macey groaned. "Dinner and a movie? Could he get any more cliché?"

Liz stopped bouncing. "Oh, is that bad?"

"Well, it's not exactly good."

Suddenly, Liz was on the ground with the rest of us.

"You know, dinner and a movie are cliché for a reason," Dominick said, smiling at Liz's slightly deflated form. "It's a date that's been done many times to a certain degree of success, so I think Jonas is just nervous. He wants to keep it simple and familiar to ensure that nothing will go wrong."

I almost gasped. No one at the Gallagher Academy ever contradicted Macey on the subject of _boys_.

Admittedly, Dominick didn't know any better. He was, after all, a new addition to some of our between-class walks. But that didn't stop Bex from tensing, preparing to pin Macey down at a moment's notice if need be.

But Macey actually paused and considered his words. "Plausible. I'll let the date slide this time. But he'd better come up with something more creative than that for your second date."

"Second date," Liz squeaked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Of course," Macey said, slinging an arm around her petite shoulders. "After the movie, he'll ask you to be his girlfriend, then you'll be going on plenty of dates."

Liz looked like she couldn't choose between being jumping up and down or hyperventilating right then, but Dominick interrupted her decision.

"Don't worry. He won't ask you to be his girlfriend on the first date."

Contradicting Macey twice within five minutes. Dominick certainly was brave.

Macey quirked an eyebrow at him. "No? You don't think Jonas will ask Liz to make it official?"

"Oh, he'll ask her, but not on the first date. Like I said, he's nervous. It won't be until a few days after the date that he actually brings himself to say the words. I guarantee it."

Macey stared Dominick down for a long moment till she held out a perfectly manicured hand. "Bet."

Dominick grinned wide and shook her hand once. "You're on."

Macey tried to look haughty and irritated as she turned and walked away, but I saw the smile in the corners of her mouth. Very few people were ballsy enough to say what they meant to her, so Dominick's fearlessness must've been refreshing.

I smiled, too, glad that he continued to grow on them. He and I had become fast friends after I was embarrassingly knocked into his lap. And after meeting, the girls had also quickly come to like him. He fit right in with our little group. With his funny, charismatic, and easy-to-get-along-with personality, he reminded me of Grant in more ways than just their physical appearances.

But there was a subtlety to him that Grant's big personality could never achieve, a muted quality that kept Dominick from standing out. And in that respect, he reminded me of myself.

We eventually came to a fork in the road. One hallway would take my friends and I to Quantum Mechanics, and the other hall would take Dominick to Code Breaking 3.

I started to say good-bye to him, but he grabbed my wrist and said, "Hold up, Cam. I wanted to ask you something…in private."

I waved my friends on, assuring them I'd catch up soon. "What's up?"

He looked in all directions, checking to see if anyone was around.

The halls were empty, but Dominick still leaned in and whispered, "I hear you're the person I need to go to if I wanted to do a little sneaking out after hours."

I pulled back. "Where'd you hear that?"

He gave me a look.

_Dang it, Tina._

"Don't worry," he laughed. "It isn't for anything nefarious." He shuffled his foot against the ground. "It's actually kind of embarrassing, but I'm a little desperate."

"Spit it out, Newman, or we're both going to be late."

He smiled apologetically. "Okay, so, the school's jammers block all coming and going communication, right?" I nodded warily, unsure where he was going with this. "And, well, I really wanted to call the guy I've been talking to back in Maine."

"That's it?" I laughed. "You know we're going into town next weekend, right?"

"I know," he whined. "But he doesn't know about, you know, _what we do_, so the whole 'you can't call or text me' thing is kind of weird to him. And I don't want him to move on or worry, and also…I miss him."

His eyes were pleading and his lips pouty, and even though I'd probably regret it, I knew I was going to say yes to him. Sure, I wasn't interested in any romance for myself, but I'd never deny my friends what made them happy.

Plus, I couldn't imagine how hard it must be to try and build a relationship with a normal boy. Lying and sneaking around were huge DON'TS. It was Relationship 101. But what if you're a spy and your lies are necessary and sneaking around is inevitable?

"Fine," I said, and Dominick pulled me in for a hug.

"Thank you, Cam. I've never really done this boyfriend thing before, but I'm trying."

"Of course. I understand." I said over his shoulder. "Tomorrow night sound good?"

"What's happening tomorrow night?"

* * *

**Zach's POV**

"You asked her out on a date, right?"

"Yes."

"Sooo, what did she say?"

"She agreed to it."

Grant clapped Jonas on the back. "See! What did I tell you? I've been talking you up so much, there was no way she could say no."

"Well, I hope she said yes because she wanted to, and not because she felt compelled to by your praise," Jonas said, readjusting his glasses which Grant's comradic slap had knocked askew. "But even if she did say yes solely because of your words, I intend to make sure the date itself convinces her to a second one."

Grant laughed then spun around to face me, continuing our walk to Quantum Mechanics backwards. "What do you think, Goode? I, personally, never thought that Jonas would be the first one of us to go on a real date."

"Hey!"

I shrugged. "You're a player," I told Grant. "And I'm uninterested. It makes sense."

Grant put a hand to his chest. "It is, indeed, a struggle to have so many women love me. How could I possibly choose one and let the rest of them down?"

I snorted and shook my head but didn't say anything. The truth was he knew it would be kinder to ask one girl out so as not to lead the others on, but he had yet to find anyone who liked him for more than his looks. I kind of felt bad for him.

"Mr. Goode," said a familiar voice, and up ahead I saw Joe Solomon leaning against the door frame of what appeared to be an empty classroom.

Without another word, he went inside the room, and I knew I was expected to follow. Jonas and Grant said they'd save me a seat then continued down the hallway, knowing whatever Joe wanted to say had to be said to me alone.

I entered the room to find Joe sitting on the edge of an empty desk. Posters with Swahili verb conjugation, German vocabulary, common Portuguese spelling errors, and so many other languages lined the walls. Pinned to the board with magnets was a map of China that had been highlighted with different colors showing which areas spoke what dialect.

"What's up, Joe?" I asked, walking casually over to the map. Anyone else would think I was simply interested in refreshing my knowledge. But Joe would know that this out-of-the-blue and inconveniently-between-classes meeting had me too nervous to sit. I was almost certain I didn't really want to hear whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

"Your mom has been seen."

My back was to Joe, so he didn't see the brief moment of shock and fear on my face, but there was no way he'd miss the tightening of my fists.

"But…she hasn't come up from ground for over four years."

"I know."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you that."

I spun on him. "Why not?" I yelled.

Joe didn't react to my outburst and instead answered my question with a question. "Do you know how we found Catherine?"

I scowled. I didn't want to play guessing games. "She's getting sloppy."

He smiled sadly as if he wished that were the real reason. "How did we find her last time?"

* * *

"_Come with me, Zach. We'll go away together. Just the two of us."_

"_How did you find me, mom?"_

"_That's not important. Come with me, now."_

"_Get away from him, Catherine!"_

* * *

I pressed my fingers into my palms to keep them from shaking. "So, she tried to contact me?"

"We think so. A message was intercepted by the school, but it was in a code she created herself, and it requires a key to crack."

"And you know it was from my mom because…?"

"We were able to trace the message back to a laptop that has since been disabled and disposed of. She had the camera intentionally uncovered, and, according to the feed, she was smiling at the lens while she sent the message."

I wanted to yell and swear and throw things. How dare she come up from ground. How dare she smile and act like this is all a game. How dare she try to come for me again.

Joe stood to leave then handed me a folded piece of evapopaper. "Since the message was for you, I assume she has given you the key."

I shook my head. "She's never given me-"

"She may have given you the key, but you didn't realize it at the time," he said with his hand resting on the doorknob. "It could be anything, a phrase she repeated often, a picture she showed you, lyrics to a song she used to sing, anything. Just think about it."

Then he left.

I sat for a moment in silence, wondering why Catherine decided to contact me now. After our initial separation, she'd tried only once, and I hadn't heard from her since. Was it because I was close to finishing my training? Was she on the hunt for more lackies to do her biding? I folded the paper again without opening it and shoved it deep in my pocket. I wouldn't try to delve into the mind of a crazy woman.

At least not when I was about to be filling my own mind with Quantum Mechanics.

I left the classroom and started booking it down the hall.

_I can still make it on time._

"Thank you, Cam. I've never really done this boyfriend thing before, but I'm trying."

I came to a quick stop when I heard Newman's little brother's voice.

_Cam? As in Cameron Morgan?! What is she doing here with him?_

"Of course. I understand," said Cammie.

I rounded the corner to see them wrapped in each other's arms. One of his hands was in her hair, pressing her head closer to him, and both of her arms held him _very _snug around the waist. I couldn't see Cammie's face, but Dominick's eyes were closed, and when he rested his head on the top of hers, I felt like I was watching an intimate moment.

And that made me angry.

"Tomorrow night sound good?" Cammie asked, and a whole slew of potential plans the couple could've made to take place over the course of an evening came to mind.

"What's happening tomorrow night?" I demanded, feeling satisfied as I watched them jolt apart.

"Zach! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Cammie yelled.

I ignored her. "Shouldn't you be in Code Breaking 3 right now, little Newman?" I asked Dominick.

I didn't know where this attitude was coming from. I'd never been condescending to Grant's brother before. But I _did _know seeing him get closer to Cammie had been bothering me for weeks now, and hearing him actually call himself her boyfriend made my feelings jump from _bothered_ to _pissed off_.

Dominick looked at his watch. "Yikes. You're right. I'll talk to you later," he told Cammie with a squeeze to her shoulder. "Later, Goode."

"What the heck was that?" Cammie shouted, throwing a hand out in the direction Dominick had gone.

"We're gonna be late," I said as a walked past her, but she slapped a hand on my chest, grabbed my shirt, and swung me around to face her again.

"Why were you so mean to Dominick?" she demanded.

Her yank on my shirt had brought us close together. Her angry breathing washed over the skin between my tie and jaw, and I could see a few pale streaks in her dark blue eyes. Dominick had probably seen those streaks.

_Why does she smell so amazing?_

I ground my teeth. "I have a better question: why were you in a hallway alone with a guy?"

"News flash, Zach, _we _are in a hallway alone right now."

"Exactly," I said, taking a step closer to her. "I could do anything I want to you, and that should bother you."

She took a step back in what I thought might've been apprehension or even fear, but when she used her hold on my shirt to pull me forward, trip me on her waiting ankle, and then slam me to the floor, I realized she'd stepped back for leverage.

As I gasped for breath, she leaned over me. "You've attended this school for two whole years and you really still believe that?"

She tsked and I hastily looked away as she rose to stand above me in her inch-and-a-half-too-short skirt.

"And now, thanks to you, we're both late. Hope you like cleaning lab equipment."

I let her walk down the hall a ways before getting up, telling myself it had nothing to do with needing time to catch my breath or regain my dignity.

* * *

**AN: As always, thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you thought in a comment or helpful critique:) And if you haven't done so already, there's still plenty of time to vote or whatever on the polling question I asked in chapter 5's author's note. Soooooo, you should totally do that. *throws love and encouragement through the screen***

**Let's talk about this chapter a bit.**

**First order of business, Dominick is gay, obviously. He was never a rival love interest for Cammie. But it certainly was entertaining to read all of your enraged comments concerning him. And even more entertaining is writing about a jealous Zach who clearly doesn't know that his best friend's brother isn't interested in his Gallagher Girl (at least not like _that_). I just love dramatic irony, don't you?**

**Second, Catherine has made an indirect appearance. Boo! Hiss! I know that tiny flashback was very vague, but you will be getting the whole story of what went down four years ago...eventually. Muahaha! Reverse dramatic irony! **

**Third and finally, I ask that you don't judge Zach too harshly for his jerk-bagness toward the end of this chapter. He'd just found out that his mom (who he hates) is coming for him again, and then he saw the girl he likes (but doesn't know he likes) hugging a guy that he doesn't know is gay. The dude's going through it. But, I mean, feel free to be upset with him. I can't stop you. Even I'm a little upset with his behavior and I wrote the chapter! **

**Love y'all! Have a spectacular day! **


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Greetings, Mortals!**

**WHAT?! A month didn't pass between chapters? I know, I'm shocked, too! Let's see how long I can keep this going;)**

**I mean, I don't want to say I'm getting excited about this story, but I'm getting excited about this story! (Well, even more excited than I already was.) It's honestly turning into something bigger and better than what I'd originally pictured over a year ago. I hope y'all plan on sticking with this one because I think it's going to be really cool when everything's all said and done!**

**Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ado About Nothing.' **

* * *

**Chapter 8: Cammie's POV**

"Cam."

Dominick whispered my name into the dark and deserted Hall of History, but I didn't jump or spook. I'd heard his soft footsteps approaching about ten seconds ago.

"Ca-"

"I'm here."

"Holy sh- Cam!" he whisper-yelled, clutching his chest. "Why are you hiding like that?"

_Hiding? _I was standing next to the tapestry I told him to meet me by. I wasn't even wearing dark clothing.

"Come on, scaredy cat," I teased, moving aside the tapestry to reveal the Gallagher crest beneath. "Hope you wore clothes you don't mind getting dirty."

Dominick's jaw dropped as I twisted the crest's sword and a passageway opened.

"Are there more of these?" he asked, eyes still wide with wonder.

I narrowed my eyes. "You trying to interrogate information out of me."

He held up his hands. "It's the training."

I smiled and grabbed his wrist. "Stay close and don't trip."

Then we were gone.

* * *

The jammers that protected Gallagher had a reach that only extended a few feet past our outer walls, but Dominick insisted that we head into town so he could treat me to a milkshake for helping him. I knew there was a 24-hour diner in Roseville, and since I wasn't one to turn down free ice cream, I agreed.

"Is this something you do often?" Dominick asked as we entered the 50s themed diner.

"I guess," I said as I took a seat on one of the cracked, red leather stools by the counter. "The girls and I come here sometimes when we're allowed into town."

It might've been Friday night, but it was late (close to 1 a.m.), so the only other customers were a couple sitting in the far corner booth. But Dominick still leaned in close and spoke in a low voice.

"No. I mean, do you sneak out of Gallagher a lot?"

I pondered his question. "I suppose it depends on your definition of 'a lot'." I stopped talking when the waitress working the night shift greeted us with a tired smile and took our order.

"If you're asking me if I sneak out every weekend," I said once she left, "that would be a no. But this isn't the first time, and it probably won't be the last."

He must've heard something in my voice because he placed a hand on mine. When I looked at him, his eyes shone with an emotion I couldn't place. "What makes you do it?"

I bit my lip. I'd never told anyone why I occasionally snuck out. Of course, no one had ever asked. The few people that knew probably assumed I did it for the thrill or the adventure. I was a spy, after all. But…

"I know I belong at the Academy," I told him, picking at a crumb glued to the counter. "But sometimes I feel…other." He didn't say anything, so I continued. "Everyone at Gallagher has a thing, something they're really, really good at that makes them an excellent spy. And I know I shouldn't complain, but sometimes…well, sometimes I don't like that _my thing _is to be invisible."

I was afraid to look up at him, worried I'd find him mocking me or even annoyed with me for complaining about a talent that all spies would love to have. But when I met his eyes again, I was finally able to figure out the emotion there: understanding.

The waitress dropped off our milkshakes, and I thanked her, but as soon as she disappeared again, Dominick pulled me in for a hug and I placed my head on his shoulder. It felt good to be understood by someone. My dad, before he died, had filled that role. He'd been a pavement artist, and I could still recall his proud smile when he realized that I had a knack for blending in, too.

I still got that proud, loving look from my mom, but it had been five years since I'd gotten the look Dominick was giving me.

"I told you," he said, still holding me to him. "I know what it's like to go unnoticed and to live in the shadows. We're the same. And one day,"—he pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes—"we'll take the world by storm, and they won't even see it coming."

I smiled and rested my head back on his shoulder. "'By storm' seems a bit extreme. I'll settle for overcast with a drizzle."

"You're thinking too small," he told me with a shake of his head. "There are ways-"

"So, is this where the cool kids hang after school?"

I tensed, but I didn't jerk away from Dominick like I did last time. No. I was much too angry to let Zachary Goode know that he'd surprised me again.

Instead, I pulled away slowly and turned to glare at Zach's smug, stupid face.

"Wonder why I wasn't invited," he said with a humorless smile.

"Dominick," I said through gritted teeth, "go make your call."

Dominick didn't need to be told twice. With a "good luck," he left the diner for some privacy.

I didn't know who he said it to, but I did know that Zach was the one who was going to need it.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I asked as Zach took Dominick's vacated seat. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"Me?" he said with faux innocence. "I thought it was obvious that I followed you." _Followed me?! _"The real question is what are _you _doing here?"

"Gee, Zach, I really would tell you, but since it's none of your business..." I stirred my milkshake with the straw.

"Fine. I'll ask Dominick."

He started to get up, but I grabbed his arm. "Leave him alone. He's busy."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "So, you're here for him."

_Dang it. _

Instead of affirming his statement, I asked, "Why did you follow me?"

"I wanted to."

"Why did you want to?"

"I was bored."

"Not good enough."

He threw up his hands. "I don't know what to tell you then. You and Little Newman were sloppy in the hall the other day, letting it slip that you had 'plans' tonight, and you were sloppy about an hour ago when you left the grounds. I followed you to your date easily."

Mentally, I made plans to address the "sloppy" comment later, but what jumped to the forefront of my mind was, "Our date?"

"Sure," he said with a scowl. "That's why you're here."

I was so shocked I didn't have an immediate response for him. Dominick had told me his sexual preference within the first hour of knowing him, so I'd assumed Zach, Dominick's brother's best friend, was also aware.

For one impulsive moment, I thought about telling him just to see the embarrassed and regretful look on his face, but I could never do that to Dominick. It wasn't anyone's place but Dominick's to out himself, so I settled for, "We aren't on a date, you idiot. But even if we were, you had no right to follow and interrupt us!"

He ran an aggressive hand through his hair. "Are you on a date or not?"

"Why do you care?"

"You said you weren't interested in dating."

"And what? I have to consult you if I change my mind?"

"So you _are_ on a date!"

"No!"

"Kids."

"What?" we both yelled in unison at the weary waitress.

"I'm sorry," Zach said quickly after. "I don't usually raise my voice to a lady."

She pointedly glanced at me. "She's a special case," he grumbled.

"I'm so sorry…Katie," I said, reading her name tag. "What did you need?"

She let out a deep, exhausted sigh. "I need you both to leave. You're disrupting the peace and scaring the other customers."

I didn't need to check the corner booth to see that she was right. The couple was gone. I'd heard the door's bell jingle 36 seconds ago.

"Of course," I agreed. "We'll go."

Katie, despite being angry, wasn't about to let her untouched milkshakes go to waste, so he poured them into to-go cups and handed them to me. I smiled my thanks as I fished around in my purse for some cash, but Zach beat me to the punch, slapping a twenty on the counter, telling her to keep the change, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and then ushering me outside.

"Get off of me," I yelled, shoving at his side.

_Are those really his muscles? Who the heck has defined muscles on their sides?_

We walked a few more steps before he said, "Not until we're back to the Academy." Then he pulled me even closer.

My body pressed against his, and, for God knows why, my body didn't hate it. Zach was warm and solid, and did I mention the muscles? At that thought, my mind rather than my body revolted.

"I have to get Dominick," I protested, hoping that that would slow his rollers and put some much-needed distance between us.

"Okay," he consented, releasing me. "Call him. He shouldn't be out here either."

I stopped. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "Nothing, Gallagher Girl. It's…" He hesitated for a moment, and I could tell he was wrestling with himself to tell me something. I also saw the moment he decided against it. "It's just that it's late and dark, and you shouldn't be off of school grounds alone."

I placed the hand that wasn't holding the drink carrier on my hips. "Are we really back to you telling me I can't handle myself because I'm a girl?"

His eyes widened and he took a step back. I smirked. "No! Of course not."

"Then what exactly are you trying to say?"

"I..." His eyes flashed. "Look, would you stop getting mad at me when I'm trying to protect you?"

"Why do I need protecting, Zach? Why are you safe and I'm not?"

"I just am, but it's not for the reasons you're thinking. Dominick needs protecting, too. So if you could just give him a call…"

"Oh, I see. Dominick may be a man, but he isn't the macho Zach Goode."

"What?" he laughed incredulously. "That's what you think this is?"

I started to walk away from him. "You aren't exactly being very forthcoming with information. All that's left for me to do is speculate and guess."

He caught up with me and grabbed my hand, pulling me to a stop. "And your guess is that I think I'm invincible?"

I shrugged.

He looked like he wanted to yell or kick something, but instead he closed his eyes and took two deep breaths. "Fine. You're right. I'm the strong, capable man and you and Dom need my protection right now."

"Are you serious?"

"What?! Isn't that what you wanted me to say? It's the attitude you're accusing me of."

"You're a piece of work, Zachary Goode."

That time he _did_ growl in frustration. "What do you want from me? I tell you what you want to hear and you're still mad? You're so belligerent."

He stepped close to me, and I could feel his heavy breathing on my skin. It was then I realized that I was breathing hard, too. _When did we get this worked up?_

He lifted his hands to place on my…shoulders? cheeks? Upper arms? Around my throat? I didn't know because he seemed to think better of it and just fisted them in the space between us.

"Why does every conversation with you have to be a heated argument?"

_This is hardly a one-way street, Zach. You started this years ago, from the very beginning._

"Heated argument, you say?" I taunted. "Let me cool you down."

* * *

**Zach's POV**

"What happened to you?" a groggy voice asked behind me.

I grimaced. I was trying to sneak back into my room without waking anyone, but Jonas had always been a light sleeper.

I turned slowly to face him. "Cammie Morgan happened."

He nodded and rolled over, going back to sleep, acting like it was completely normal for one of his best friends to come strolling into the room at two o'clock in the morning covered in liquified chocolate and strawberry ice cream.

I'd forever wonder what growing up with three sisters did to Jonas because trying the survive the girls at this school was killing me.

* * *

I managed to avoid Cammie for the remainder of the weekend. It was like we'd gone back to the two weeks prior our hallway run-in, which was fine by me. Every encounter I'd had with her since the semester started three weeks ago had left me either angry, confused, or covered in milkshake. If we just stayed out of each other's way for the remainder of the year, everything would be fine.

My plan, however, was quickly thwarted the following Tuesday.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Joe's voice rang across the warehouse (the name we'd taken to calling the SAM Tech classroom), "so far all of our sessions for this course have been grounded, but Miss Bleu and I think you finally know enough about the machine's workings, capabilities, and operations to start learning how to actually fly one."

Excited looks and exclamations were exchanged throughout the class. I also smiled and rocked on the balls of my feet, ready to get up in the air. I wanted to convey a teasing _it's-about-time _look to Joe, but for some reason he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"From your lessons so far," Miss Bleu said, stepping in, "you all know how dangerous this machine can be. Since Mr. Solomon and I can't closely supervise all of you at once, we have implemented a buddy system. Everyone will be assigned a partner to check and secure your strappings, monitor your speed, height, and stability, and provide any other general assistance needed when you're using SAM Tech."

Grant and I gave each other a head nod. If Joe had handled the partner assignments, then it was pretty much a sure thing that Newman and I would be working together.

"Listen for your name, your partner's name, and the number that follows each pair. That number will be the pack you're both assigned to." Then Joe listed everyone off. "Baxter and Fetterman, pack 1, Morrison and Lee, pack 2, Newman and Bauer, pack 3…"

_Wait. What? Grant and I aren't together?_

"…Morgan and Goode, pack 4…"

My head whipped around until I locked gazes with a wide-eyed Cammie.

I might not have been female enough to share the telepathic bond that all women seemed to have, but I could tell we were thinking the same thing. And it wasn't a thought you'd say out-loud in the presence of children.

I stared hard at Joe as he called the remaining names. Without even looking at me, he gave a subtle head shake. There would be no arguing out of this one.

"Start by choosing fly days," Joe said once everyone was paired up. "One partner in the pack on Tuesdays, and one on Thursdays. After you've chosen who flies today, get that person strapped in, then we'll go from there."

Cammie and I met at our designated jetpack, both of us sporting crossed arms and scowls.

"Would you like to fly today, Zachary?" she asked.

"Ladies first, Cameron."

"Okay," she chirped, then began unbuckling the straps of the full-body harness.

Dang it. I'd hoped her argumentative nature would swing the offer back to me one more time.

Each pack had an adjustable stand holding it up, so Cammie raised the pack to accommodate her height then put her back to it. I stepped forward and reached to help her.

"What are you doing?" she asked like an accusation.

"Helping."

"Well, stop helping."

"Would if I could, Gallagher Girl, but like it or not, we're partners now."

She mumbled angrily under her breath, something about her mom's doing and Joe being whipped.

"Whatever," she finally said. "Just don't touch me."

I put my arms around her neck and leaned down as if I were going in for a kiss.

She immediately tensed. "Za-"

"Calm down," I said with a smirk, pulling forward both her shoulder straps. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Give me those," she grumbled, yanking them from my hands. "I can handle the rest by myself."

I put my hands up and backed away. If she was going to be a brat about it, I had no problem letting her finish up.

Argumentative and proud. That was how I'd describe Cammie Morgan. The sad thing was that I knew she wasn't like that with everyone. In fact, I was pretty sure she was only like that with me. I'd seen her with her other classmates. She knew how to work well with a team. But if _I _was offering help, I'd get shut down.

_Here, Cammie, let me get those straps you can't reach. "__**I can handle the rest by myself."**_

_Cammie, let me corral you and your "not-date" back to the school so my psycho mom doesn't get any crazy ideas to use you as leverage to get to me. __**Milkshaked. **_

If she ever asked me for help, I'd probably die of shock.

"Hey, Zach, I need your help."

For a brief mortifying moment, I thought I'd said all of that out loud, and she'd asked just to see if I'd really keel over. But then I saw the frustrated look on her face.

I cocked an eyebrow at her, and she sighed. "The chest strap is jammed. I can't undo it."

"And why, pray tell, would you undo the chest strap?"

"If the chest strap is fastened then I can't bend to reach the thigh straps."

"I'll just do the thigh straps."

"No!"

"Your choice, Gallagher Girl. I'm either touching your chest or your thighs."

"Perv."

"You act like I plan to grope you. Just tell me which one so we can get this over with."

"Fine," she ground out. "Thighs."

Just to mess with her, I winked before crouching down in front of her. She made a sound of disgust but didn't lash out with her words or her legs as I reached under the practically knee length skirt to get to the thigh straps.

I certainly didn't try to, but there were some unintentional brushes between my hands and her legs, enough to know that Joe must've sent out a memo to the ladies, asking them to wear shorts under their uniforms.

After making sure everything was snapped into place and tightened, I stood once again. "Are you sufficiently secured?"

"Yes," she said, looking anywhere but at me.

_Whatever. Let's get this show on the road._

I hit the release and collapse button on the pack's stand. But I quickly regretted pressing said button when Cammie sucked in a sharp breath and latched onto my shoulders. My hands shot out and grabbed her waist before I even realized she'd been falling.

She glared up at me. "Why did you push that button?"

I scoffed. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

"Why should I thank you? I wouldn't have lost my balance if you'd just warned me you were releasing the pack."

"Oh, I'm sure."

She lifted her chin. "You know, I'm stronger than you've ever given me credit for."

"I-" The words died on my tongue. I was going to contradict her, but lately my actions and words had only confirmed what she was saying. No wonder she hated me.

"I-," I tried again.

"Now get those sausage links you call fingers off of me."

Aaaand that was why I hated her. Or, you know, at least very strongly disliked her.

I cinched her tighter. "No. You'll probably fall and damage the equipment."

She leaned forward and spoke low in my ear. "If you don't let go of me, I will damage some _equipment_, but it won't be the jetpack."

Her eyes dropped below my belt buckle, and I let her go as if I'd been touching acid, taking a few steps back just to be safe. "Don't even joke."

She shrugged. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"You grabbed me first!"

"And you pushed the button before I was ready!"

We were going in circles with this argument. Fine. I could do this all day.

* * *

**Grant's POV**

I watched with the rest of the class as Goode and Cammie continued to bicker. For seniors in spy school, they weren't being very observant. Too caught up in their own little world.

_Too caught up in each other_, my mind corrected.

"You see what I see?" Bex whispered, leaving her partner for a moment and sidling up to me.

"What?" I asked.

"Chemistry."

I chuckled. "Those two have had that since 8th grade."

She nodded. "Don't you think it's about time we help them along?"

I smiled wide. "Miss Baxter, I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! If you're feeling up to it, let me know what you thought in an encouraging comment or helpful critique! Also, check out chapter 5's author's note. There's still plenty of time to answer the polling question I have there (THX! You're the awesomest!)**

**So...this chapter.**

**A lot of it (okay, most of it) was arguing, but we also saw some real stuff in there. Some real concern. Some real attraction. Some real Jealousy. Some real genital threatening. But...we've also seen all of this before (except that last one). For the most part, Zach and Cammie's relationship hasn't really grown since chapter 1. **

**That, however, is going to change thanks to the last little bit of this chapter. Sometimes two very stubborn people just need a push in the right direction. The question is, what exactly is that push going to be? What are Grant and Bex planning? **

**Ah, yes. Intrigue.**

**P.S. Brownie points if you can find the tweaked _C_**_**lueless**_**quote;)**

**Love you all! Have a fantastic day! **


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hello, lovelies! I missed you so much!**

**So, obviously an apology is in order for leaving you guys hanging for over three months. Here it is: I'm so, so sorry! I have excuses, but I won't bore you with those. Instead I'd like to wish you happy reading, and I hope y'all think this chapter (and the chapters to follow) was worth the wait:)**

**Disclaimer: The characters and the Gallagher Girl universe belong to Ally Carter, and the plot of this story is based on Shakespeare's play, 'Much Ado About Nothing.'**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Zach's POV**

"_Mommy."_

_The woman spun around quickly, too quickly, as if she'd been caught. Had the boy been older, had he been trained, he would've found it suspicious, and he would've tried to read whatever was on the screen before his mother snapped the laptop closed._

"_Yes, Sweetheart?" the woman said, forcing an easy smile onto her face._

_The little boy shuffled his foot, nervous. He knew his mom was busy – she always told him not to bother her – but he thought his question was pretty important. _

"_Who were those men?" the boy asked, keeping his head low. "The big ones with the guns?"_

_When the boy looked up again, he was surprised to find his mother kneeling in front of him. He rarely was given her full attention. _

"_Did those men scare you?"_

_The boy wanted to be brave, so he shook his head. _

_The woman smiled. "Good. Those men work for mommy, and one day" – the woman smoothed a hand over her son's hair – "one day their sons and daughters will work for _you_." _

_The boy frowned. He didn't want to tell big people with guns what to do, but he _did _really want some friends. _

"_Next time those men come, can they bring their kids so we can play?"_

"_No." The woman's voice was sharp, and the boy jumped. "No, Sweetheart," the woman said, her voice softening. "A boss never plays with his subordinates."_

_The boy was confused. He didn't know what "subordinates" was. _

_The woman laughed at his crinkled brow then rephrased, "The king doesn't play with the pawns, he uses them. You aren't a pawn, Zach, you're the king."_

I sighed and raked a hand through my hair as I used every trick my code breaking classes taught me with this potential new key.

_You aren't a pawn, you're the king._

* * *

Catherine had first said those words to me when I was only five, the day I'd unintentionally asked about her so-called "business." Looking back, I wished I would've kept my mouth shut because the very next day she started to train me in her image.

Once training began, I heard that phrase all the time, usually when I did something wrong or chose mercy instead of retaliation.

"_You're being too soft, Zach. Remember, you aren't a pawn, you're the king."_

So, I stopped being soft. I hardened myself to please her, to be like her. And one of my biggest fears was that deep down I would always be like Catherine.

I shoved my chair away from my desk and notes and the piece of evapopaper with Catherine's coded message.

"This isn't working," I muttered to myself.

And it wasn't. I'd tried every code breaking tactic I knew with every key phrase, word, and song from my past I could think of. I wasn't getting anywhere with this. As a spy, I knew what I needed to do. I knew two heads (particularly a second head that was better at code breaking than I was) were better than one. But as a guy, I wasn't all that interested in sharing childhood stories about my psycho mom or what she wanted with me now.

"Hey, Goode!" Grant called, poking his head into our room. "You ready?"

My mother's screw-up all those years ago must've taught me nothing because I quickly slammed my notebook closed with the evapopaper inside. Spy 101: quick, sudden movements were _always _suspicious.

Grant raised an eyebrow then smirked as he sauntered over to me.

"What's so secret in that little notebook of yours that you can't share it with your best friend, hm?"

He craned his neck to look over my shoulder, but I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. I didn't move to hide the notebook or push him away. Instead I shrugged and said, "Code breaking project Joe asked me to work on." _Truth. _"It's nothing important." _Lie._

Grant snorted. "Code breaking. Sure."

"It is-"

"No offense, Goode, but if there was a code Joe couldn't crack, he wouldn't go to you to get the job done, he'd go to Liz."

Liz. Of course! She really was the best code breaker of our generation, possibly the best in the world. Liz was also a shy and kind sort of girl. I could give her the message and all of the potential keys from my messed-up childhood, and she would most likely jump right in, no questions asked. She was the perfect person to ask for help.

"So what are you really hiding? A love letter?"

"A what?!" My brows drew together as I looked up at Grant. The guess was so out of left field that I wasn't sure if I heard him right, but he was smiling and waggling his eyebrows like an idiot, so my hearing must've been fine. It was his brain that needed examining. "Why in the world would I be writing a love letter?"

He turned and walked back toward the door. "Not writing, reading. I think someone sent you a love letter."

I rolled my eyes. "What are we? Ten? Who in this school would send me a love letter?"

Grant reached the door and spun to face me. "Cammie Morgan."

Then he slipped out, leaving me too shocked to do much of anything beyond opening and closing my mouth like a fish.

"Hurry up, Goode," he called from the hallway. "Everyone's already downstairs waiting to walk into town."

I shoved the notebook in my desk drawer and scrambled after him. He was walking leisurely, purposefully slow, knowing I'd chase after him and demand answers. It made me want to punch him. Instead I grabbed his shoulder when I reached him and said, "Why would you think Cammie Morgan sent me a love letter?"

"Never mind, Zach," he said, shrugging me off and slapping me on the back. "I was obviously mistaken. My bad."

Of course he was mistaken, he had to be mistaken, but that wasn't what I wanted to know. "But why did you think she did? Has she said something about me? Has she done something?"

All Cammie and I had done this past week was fight. Avoiding each other was now a non-option thanks to our partnership in SAM tech, and she'd made it clear at the beginning of the semester that friendship wasn't a possibility, so that left "state of constant arguing" as our third, and only avenue.

Unless she was thinking about a fourth, unexplored avenue…

No! No. She'd never hinted at liking me, much less liking me _like that_. Grant had to be wrong. Cammie wasn't even the type to write love letters to her crush…was she?

Grant held up his hands. "All I'm saying is that Bex told me she saw Cam writing some letter with a big, goofy grin on her face, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out she probably wasn't doing homework."

"That doesn't mean anything," I protested. "Just because you smile while you write something doesn't mean it's a sappy love note."

"Too true, my friend," he said, slinging an arm around my neck as we walked. "But it's not like it matters anyway, right? If Cammie did write a declaration of love, she obviously didn't give it to you."

We'd finally reached the large foyer where all of the upper classmen were gathered. Everyone was waiting for Joe to arrive and give us the "go ahead."

"Who knows?" Grant continued. "Maybe she wrote it for someone else."

I cast a sideways look at him. "You seem awfully concerned about Cammie's love life."

Grant just smiled. He was so weird sometimes.

I lifted my head to try and find Jonas, but when I looked up, the first thing I saw was Cammie weaving her way through the crowd toward me. And she had a pink envelope sealed with a heart sticker in her hand.

I blinked a few times but every time my eyes reopened she was still there clutching the envelope and walking this way.

_I can't believe Grant was right! _

Wait. Grant was right. Cammie Morgan wrote me a love letter.

And she was about to give it to me.

My palms suddenly grew damp and I felt a few beads of sweat form at my hairline. Why was I so nervous? I'd had girls tell me they like me before. This should've been no different.

But none of those girls were Cammie. And none of those girls were walking up to me right then looking as good as Cammie did in a simple jeans and t-shirt ensemble.

_Is it warm in here? _I wanted to ask Grant, but Cammie had finally reached us.

When her eyes met mine, I panicked and took a step back. What would I say? Was I just supposed to accept the letter? Was I supposed to give her some sort of answer? And, while we were on the subject, what the hell would my answer be?! We were rivals! She'd said so herself. We were supposed to hate each other, weren't we? Why was she doing this? And why did I want-

"Zach," she said coolly, then turned to Grant and held out the letter for him. "This is for you."

It took all of my training to keep my eyes from widening and my mouth from shouting, "What!?" like a birthday kid who'd just been gypped a present. I pressed my lips firmly between my teeth as Grant took the letter from her outstretched hand.

She smiled up at him. "It's from-"

"Thank you so much, Cammie!" Grant exclaimed quickly. "You shouldn't have!"

"I didn-"

"Really, Cam. This means so much," he said, pulling her into a tight hug.

In that moment, I couldn't control the tightening of my fists. That was until I noticed Cammie's reaction.

She didn't pull away, but she wasn't really hugging him back either. She certainly didn't look like a girl being held by her crush. Her arms stuck out, suspended behind his back, unsure of what to do. And for a second, she forgot our "state of constant arguing" status, sharing a "WTF" look with me over his shoulder. I lifted my brows and shrugged. Heck if I knew what was going on.

She said something softly to Grant that I couldn't make out then began awkwardly patting his back. _What is happening?!_ After another moment, Cammie pulled away and took several steps back.

"Um…okay," she said. "Well…you have fun with that" –she indicated to the letter in Grant's hand – "and if you ever need to talk, just, um, let me or perhaps a professional know. See you in town." Then she was gone.

"Uh…Grant-"

He held up a hand, cutting me off. My mouth snapped shut, but it was less because of the hand, and more because of my surprise when I saw a tinge of red on his neck and cheeks. In all my years of knowing him, I'd never seen Grant blush.

"If you'll excuse me, Zach, I need to go kill Rebecca Baxter."

_What just happened?_

Suddenly, Joe's voice rang out across the foyer. He was standing by the doors, but I hadn't even seen him come in. "Best behavior ladies and gentlemen," he said. "You all have reputations to uphold and covers to maintain." Then he opened the double doors, and everyone took that as permission to file out.

I wanted to go after Grant and ask for some answers again because now I had more questions than before, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me as I made it to the threshold.

"Walk with me," Joe said, and I did.

I assumed Joe had singled me out to talk to me – he never did anything without a reason –but he didn't say a word as we walked down the long, gravel driveway, still nothing when we reached the academy wall, and he remained silent for several minutes past it.

It might've been a test. One of those see-how-long-you-can-go-without-talking-when-your-mentor-clearly-has-something-important-to-say tests. But the last time Joe had pulled me aside, he'd given me the coded message from my mom, so I wasn't too interested in tests of patience.

"Is it Catherine again?" I demanded quietly, eyeing our surroundings for potential eavesdroppers.

He just kept walking and my jaw ticked. "Joe. Is my mom-"

"What do you know about Eleevantage?" he finally asked.

I pulled up short. _Eleevantage? What did that have to do with anything?_

In two jogging steps I caught up with him again. "You mean the electronics company?"

He nodded.

Well, for starters, I knew that Jonas loved them. He was always ordering pieces and parts from them to use in his gadgets and inventions.

"They were a small starter company at first, but within five short years they quickly grew into one of the largest, most profitable electronics companies in North America," I said, reciting something Jonas had told me a while back.

Joe nodded again. "Why?"

"Great marketing team?"

The corner of Joe's mouth tugged into a brief half-smile. "No. Uniqueness. They rose quickly in demand and became so profitable because of their unique products. Half of the things they sell you can't get from any other company. They hold more patents than there are students from Gallagher and Blackthorne combined."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's not _that _many students."

"I said '_from_' not 'attending currently.'"

_Woah. That's a lot of patents. _

"This is all common knowledge… for the most part," he said with a pointed look, "but what the company doesn't advertise is that it sells exclusive, one-of-a-kind pieces to the highest bidder in underground auctions."

"And?" I asked, trying to get to the point. "Are you asking me to go to one of these auctions? Attend it? Bust it up? Steal one of those coveted electronic thingies?"

We were almost to the middle of Roseville when Joe stopped and turned to me. My classmates were all around us, enjoying the minimal shops and restaurants this small town had to offer. It was a Saturday, and everyone was having a good time, but there was a grim set to Joe's mouth and his eyes crinkled marginally in a pained expression. He didn't want to tell me what he was going to say next.

"According to Eleevantage security footage, one of Catherine's men has already stolen the next auction's key device."

I sucked in a large breath and bit the inside of my cheek, hard. So this _was_ about Catherine after all. Terrific.

"Because of the versatility of the device," he continued, "we don't know why she wants it. The engineers at Eleevantage tell us it all depends on the other devices you pair with it, but we don't know what Catherine has at her disposal, so-"

"So we have no idea what she's capable of," I finished for him.

* * *

I had to find Liz.

After Joe had walked away, leaving me to stew over this new information next to a white-washed gazebo covered in twinkle lights, I was sure of one thing: the coded message and whatever my mom was planning with the Eleevantage device had to be connected.

Catherine hadn't come up from ground in four years, and now she'd come up twice (with the intention of being seen) in the past week. She was planning something, and somehow it involved me.

Well, for once I was going to take mother dearest's advice. I wasn't going to be her pawn.

I had to know what that message was as soon as possible, so I searched the core of Roseville for a petite blond, but either my usually impeccable attention to detail was failing me, or Liz wasn't here. In fact, none of her closest friends were here.

I nearly smacked myself in the head when I remembered Jonas mentioning something to Grant about taking Liz to see a movie. The only theater in town was a little ways outside the square, so I set off for it at a jog.

When I arrived, I saw Macey sitting outside of the theater flipping through a magazine, so I knew I was in the right place.

"Macey, is Liz-"

She didn't even look up from reading as she tapped the air pods in her ears. In other words, "leave me alone."

I rolled my eyes and went inside. From there it took me less than a second to spot Cammie's figure leaning against the wall outside one of the theater rooms. Bingo.

"Hey, Gallagher Girl," I said, strolling past her. "Liz in there?" I asked as I pushed through the doors into the darkened theater.

Whatever movie was playing had already started, and I could see Liz and Jonas' heads next to each other in what Jonas would call "optimum viewing seats." I also noticed the back of Bex's head about five rows back from them. Gallagher Girls apparently took their dates very seriously if the three levels of back-up were any indication. The thought almost made me laugh. Almost. I had to be quiet if I wanted to get past Bex to reach Liz.

There would be no getting around her, so I'd have to just walk right past her like I'd done Cam-

A palm slapped over my mouth and a hand grabbed and twisted my arm painfully behind my back. And before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged backwards out of the theater. I tried to turn to see my captor, but their hand just pulled tighter on my arm, and I sucked a pained breath through my nose.

Behind me another door burst open and then another, and then the next thing I knew I was being thrown onto a toilet seat in a tiny bathroom stall with Cammie Morgan leaning over me hissing, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

* * *

**AN: A thousand thank yous to all of you for taking the time to read this chapter! Thoughts? Critiques? Questions? Raging rants of anger at the author for taking so long to update? I will accept them all:) Also, I've said it before and I'll say it again: chapter 5's author's note has a polling question that you shoulder totally answer. You know...only if you wanna. **

**So, this chapter. It wasn't a super long one, but it contained enough mood swings to give you whiplash, am I right? Serious, light-hearted, serious, light-hearted. "My goodness, author, what are you doing?" Great question, truly. I wish I knew. What I DO know is that on both fronts (serious and light-hearted) the plot is thickening. OooooOooo! We all love a thick plot! And just like poor Zach, we now have more questions than answers.**

**What is Catherine planning? How does she plan on using Zach? What the heck does the message say? and Why is she just the worst human ever? **

**Also, Did Cammie really write someone a love letter? What exactly are Grant and Bex doing? And what was Zach thinking walking into the middle of a live op/date? Amateur!**

**Feel free to speculate while we all wait for me to get my crap to together and write the next chapter;)**

**Love you all lots! Have a delightful day! **


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